Insert Sexy Title Here
by TazeeWockee
Summary: For Rynan and Phi fans. Not for readers below 18. Still in progress. Skadoooosh!
1. Chapter 1

It is a scorching Friday afternoon; the sun is burning into every surface it can reach. And one unfortunate surface is Hayge's skin. Hayge sits peacefully on her most-prided balcony that juts humbly out of her second floor room, in a pair of jammies, sipping on a cup of decaf latte, with a classic Shakespeare book on her lap, as the insane heat takes its time terrorizing her out of her wits. At this hour of the day, most of the tenants are probably either taking a catnap, or dutifully running errands, or just living their hectic life somewhere else.

Just not out here. Not out here in her balcony, exposing themselves for the sun to mercilessly torment.

But in spite of the high temperature, _insanely_ high temperature, in spite of the sweat beads trickling down her temple, and in spite of the cool, comfy sofa begging her to come inside, she will stand her ground. She is going to stay out here.

For as long as it takes.

And she wouldn't dare give in to the temptation of going back in until she sees what she has come out here to see.

Until she sees _him._

_Until she sees Cutie McHottie. _

Yes, yes, it is pathetic to sneakily check out the cute guy from the next building come out of the ashes every Friday afternoon, usually always at this hour, and play ball with his friends at the basketball court that, conveniently enough, is in perfect view from her balcony.

Hayge has told herself this a million times before. But does that ever stop her from doing it anyway?

Not… at... all...

Every Friday afternoon, Hayge makes sure she has no other things to worry about, like emergency meetings, the laundry, or other possible things that can get in the way. No, on Friday afternoons, she sees to it that her hand is empty.

Because Cutie McHottie has chosen Friday afternoons to be his playtime.

Not one afternoon does he miss. Ever since she discovered by accident, which was some five months ago, that there is some sort of Athenian god playing basketball at the court that faces her window, thus her balcony, at the needed angle, she comes out every week, same time, same day, pretending to read on some book while her eyes actually remain plastered on him the whole time, catching his every step, every cute hand gesture, every word of cuss, every heartfelt smile, every eyebrow curl, every eyeroll, every headshake, every adorably funny face or dance that he does every time he makes an almost impossible shot. There is a striking thing about him that has given Hayge something to look forward to every week. And for some reason, this guy never fails her. He comes out, also at the same time, same day that is expected of him, strutting in the place, and stealing Hayge out of her thoughts.

Afterwards, she is eaten by that self-deprecating sense of guilt from spying on him like a highly declassified undercover agent, observing his every move with a hawk's eye, with him all clueless and innocent, but always afterwards, when the deed is done, when there can be no undoing anymore.

And the evanescent feeling always leaves her… when she is about to commit the same naughty deed again.

Like she is now.

Hayge fidgets in her grandfather chair, trying to get into a comfortable position, tossing and turning. And then like a madman, she dashes back inside to check her face on the mirror, smoothing out the kinks on her untreated hair for the fifth time that afternoon, adjusting her correcting eyeglasses for a better fit. Even if it has never happened that Cutie McHottie looks her way, she has to know that she appears decent if ever the occasion calls for it.

Fifteen minutes and counting. Hayge peers out into the street, straining her neck, her heart beating at the thought of him emerging into her sight any minute now.

She can't explain it, really, regardless of how long and distant she stares blankly into her ceiling every night before drifting off to sleep, digging her mind for answers, why this guy has an effect on her. A strong, lingering effect – not the kind of feeling she can define on her own. Maybe she needs to consult an emotions expert. What is that – a shrink? No, shrinks are for crazy people. She isn't crazy… she is merely going through a rather… _unusual _phase in her life… falling victim to the seductive ropes of a mere stranger who mysteriously goes out to meet the sun at an unchanging day and time, week after week after week.

There is a sudden noise below the building, voices and laughter echoing all over the place. A thunder of heavy footsteps against concrete. It is them. They're finally here. Cutie McHottie and six other men walk into her line of vision, crossing the street to where the court stands, wearing a certain kind of swagger that suggests they reign over the whole neighborhood. Cutie McHottie is all bubbly today, she notes, judging from all the cheerful animation in his body gestures. He always has moods.

Last week he was on gloomy mode, sulking in the corner like a man who just lost a million dollars. He still carried that unmistakable air in him, but it wasn't hard to tell that something was crawling up his ass. Family problem, maybe… or that unavoidable tiresome pressure from work that was always there. Who knows, really? Hayge's limited knowledge about this guy and what he embodies only reaches so much as that he is cute (in the strictest objective sense of the word), he plays basketball with his buddies every Thursday, Gatorade is his favorite drink, and he loves saying, "Ano ba?", a Tagalog phrase that simply means "What?", in that quirky accent.

The week before that he had been all cranky and grumpy, easily getting provoked under the lightest of reasons. He'd even snapped a little bit at one of the guys, the chocolate-skinned one when he blocked one of his shots, and they'd looked like they got into an argument.

But this week is a happy week for Cutie McHottie. Happy weeks aren't hard to come by. Hayge has seen the infectious smiles, the tremor in his body whenever he hollers in laughter, and the lively intensity in his eyes, all too many times, and has fallen in love with them each time. He's just an all-around happy guy who lifts everyone's spirits with his kind, jovial ways. That is the reason why whenever he is in a sour mood, Hayge is gripped by an unexplainably strong feeling of sympathy for him, and also, no matter how inappropriate this may seem, a strong urge to go down and wipe that look of teary-eyed sadness off his face with her bare hands.

Hayge gets comfortable in her chair as the guys get ready in the court. Cutie McHottie has a Lakers jersey shorts on, the one he wore five Thursdays ago, and a snug-fitting violet shirt that screams hotness. She smiles widely at the caption written across it, "You Know You Want Me." For a fleeting second, she suspects that Cutie McHottie has an inkling that she's been checking him out. _I want you indeed,_ she thinks.

The first couple of minutes into the game, it looks like his team's on the lead. This week, his team's composed of him, first and foremost, the black guy, and the long-haired fellow who always bears a nice, unique smile. The other team, the losing team, is made up of the three people with uniform buzz cuts, all oriental, one really short, practically looking almost five feet nothing from where Hayge is looking, one with a nicely tanned skin and a noticeable dimple when he smiles, and one with droopy Snoopy eyes – this one's definitely Korean. The last person in the lot is the tallest one, the one, coincidentally enough, who lives a floor down from her own. Hayge has run into him in the building a few times, so few that she can count them in the fingers of her one hand, and not once, has she ever had the courage to engage with him in a conversation. It's not as if he's socially intimidating in any sort of way; it's just that Hayge has lived her entire life dubbed as "the shy, timid one." With long, dark hair that drapes down and covers almost half of her face, and a pair of eyeglasses a normal person probably would never want to be caught dead in, she has proved herself to be the classic, old-school nerd. And it's just one of her typical nerd ways to avoid any conversation with anyone, be they perfectly decent-looking people. Such as this decent-looking neighbor guy.

He has that gentle demeanor about him, the one who simply smiles foolishly whenever the noisy grownups kid around like little children. Hayge gets the feeling he is the goody-two-shoes in the group. And today he's the odd one out, playing the role of the referee, which, technically, doesn't really serve any purpose if these guys are concerned. They play just the way they want to play. No rules, no regulations, just clean, safe fun.

Hayge watches intently as Neighbor Guy (she calls him that to avoid confusion) blows his whistle here and there, just for the fun of it, looking like he cares little to none if the players are sticking to the rules or breaking them in a million different ways. She proclaims herself not an expert when it comes to shooting hoops, but she knows travelling when she sees one. And Cutie McHottie is so doing it. Somehow travelling looks cute on him.

Cutie McHottie fakes right, fakes left, dribbles the ball in quick, jerky moves for a couple more times, blocked by Dimple Head (another name Hayge has made up for distinction's sake), and just when Short Stuff (try and keep up with the names) goes up sneakily behind him, he does a smooth fade-away and shoots for the goal.

_He's good_, Hayge thinks, sounding silly even in her own thoughts. But it is true. They may all be amateurs, but Cutie McHottie can play good ball and the best one among the lot, hands down.

"You gotta let us score any time today, man…" Hayge can faintly hear Droopy Snoopy whine. Although the court looks far enough for the voices to be drowned out, she can still pick up, and make out, words here and there. Like, when Cutie McHottie says, "Ano ba?"; Hayge heard that short, quick phrase ring out in an audible sound only once before, when Cutie McHottie seemed like he was telling a joke to his friends, but somehow, in the next Ano ba's that have come afterwards, Hayge is able hear the words just by looking at him mouthing them. "Ano ba" has been her favorite phrase ever since.

Cutie McHottie does a victory dance, hips shaking and arms swaying. It also looks like he's humming a tune – again, this is just according to and based on Hayge's familiarity over him. Because no, she can't hear a damn thing. If it weren't for her selective hearing, she probably would have heard someone say Cutie McHottie's name by now. She wishes she can address him in another way, like his name maybe. But that seems impossible when you're perfectly hidden behind your own shell, looking upon them only in a bird's eye view.

Dimple Head throws a towel at Cutie McHottie's face, whether accidentally or intentionally, she can't tell. Cutie McHottie simply gives Dimple Head a gloating look and dabs the sweat off his face. Hayge has fought against her urges to look away and let him do his business too many times before, but no way can she help herself from being lured into the moment now, not when Cutie McHottie is slowly running the towel against that hypnotizing curve of his neck, that long length of bulging arms, in an almost hypnotic way. It appears as though he's purposefully putting on a show for an unseen audience. Must he be aware that Hayge is drooling in fascination fifteen meters from him right now?

Big Smile (long-haired fellow) says something that gets everyone rolling their eyes, especially the three boys belonging to the losing team. Then Hayge hears Short Stuff bellow, "We'll so beat you this time!"

Second round (or is it quarter? They don't really follow the technical stuff), Short Stuff, Dimple Head and Droopy Snoopy appear to be making up for their initial defeat, getting three shots in straight. Not that she's ever had the self-righteousness to admit she's predisposed to bias, but Hayge is keeping her fingers crossed for the other team and siding on their victory. Because objectively speaking, Cutie McHottie has the making of a competent basketball player – strong-willed, determined, and needless to say, good and it just wouldn't be a fair fight if he didn't dust the others altogether. Dimple Head and Droopy Snoopy seem to disagree with her, though, as it looks like they're owning the game at the moment.

There's that playfully morose look of failure on Cutie McHottie's face, eyebrows meeting, forehead creasing. He may just be feigning it for the sake of dramatic effect, which Hayge finds really cute. Chocolate Man (black dude, duh?) is blocking Short Stuff, who is dribbling the ball like he has all the time to do it, and Hayge, in her mind, is screaming "DEFENSE! DEFENSE!" Short Stuff is a small, swift guy, though, so running past an opponent is where he's good at. He passes the ball to Dimple Head, who's guarding closely by the net, being blocked by Cutie McHottie, and he catches it by a few millimeters before Cutie McHottie steals it and runs back court.

Cutie McHottie tosses it to Chocolate Man, Droopy Snoopy on guard behind him; Cutie McHottie waits no time before he's situated just right below the net, signaling Chocolate Man to give back the ball to him, while Dimple Head persistently stands against him, all hands flailing about. The ball lands on Cutie McHottie's nimble hands and as Dimple Head turns to face him, Cutie McHottie grins menacingly at him, who seems to be narrowing his eyes and returning the evil grin. Cutie McHottie dribbles the ball on Dimple Head's close watch, both parties wearing arrogant "Bring it on, bitch" looks on their faces. Just when he has had enough of it, Cutie McHottie flies off the ground and goes for the basket, Chocolate Man for the assist, Dimple Head shoots off and blocks the shot with a bone-breaking slam at the ball, and sends it flying out into the sky. It goes up, up, up… and down, down, down… and lands on Hayge's balcony.

Carefully it rolls and rolls and halts at Hayge's feet. She looks at it and gulps.

Oops.

2

Honey feels too exhausted to look for her keys now. On normal days, she finds it a breeze to get off from work at six, ride a cab home, and search her purse for the keys to her apartment as she stands just outside the room. But today is not a normal day. Today is Thursday – which means it's her boss's day-off, which means her work is multiplied by five hundred, which means her bones right now feel like they're made of mush. She just wants to burst open the goddamned door and fall dead on her bed, or even the floor, damn it. But no… her keys seem to be so keen on ruining her night and refuse to be seen amongst the mess of things in her bag. Honey sighs, cursing, as her hand crawls into her bag for the nth time and touches all the wrong things – phone, PDA, hand sanitizer, shades case, and what the hell is that? Is that a piece of sandwich? She grimaces but was too tired to even investigate, so she leaves it there and opens her bag wider for better access. She gives up after several attempts and puts down the two paper bags cradled in her arms down to the floor, and pulls one of her knee up so that her bag is sitting on it. She looks through it diligently, huffing and cursing in between, balancing on one foot, and still finds no luck. With a dejected sigh, she stares blankly at the door, shoulders slumped and legs bucking. It makes her assume that it's the PMS that's making her so emotional, because she finds her lips quivering and her eyes welling up just then. It's been a long and hard day at the restaurant – three of her co-workers got fired, she burned her chicken ravioli, and there was a threat issued that the management will be suspending some of the new cooks due to an unexpected financial shortage; why did fate choose this night to be Nothing-goes-Honey's-way night, too?

She wipes her eyes, feeling like a wuss, and a wave of realization hits her. Her hand goes to feel up her shirt pockets, and stops abruptly as the hard metal digs lightly into her fingers.

She can't make up her mind whether to scream or laugh.

She takes out the key and resists the urge to scream. Think happy thoughts, happy thoughts. After meditating on calming her nerves with inhale-and-exhale exercises for a few seconds, she inserts it in, turns it, hears the doorknob click and gives it a light push. Nothing happens; the door won't open. She gives a not-so-light push this time, but still it remains stubbornly closed, like something heavy is lodged somewhere, and is stuck in there now. Honey scratches her head, her stupid meditation turning out to be useless after all, and fights the temptation to call her roommate and have him rescue her from the monster that keeps her and this room apart.

But she doesn't have the energy for this. She wants to come in, eat dinner, and end the night with scented candles, soft music and a soothing bubble bath. That is how she fantasized it in her head as one of the chefs gave her foul mouth for the dish she left on the oven for too long. She wished her boss, her _real_ boss, was there to defend and save her from the humiliation.

She admits she was at fault, but she finds the verbal abuse uncalled for. She wasn't a child anymore; a little sermon here and there would have been conveying enough to do the trick, she didn't need the words of evil straight from Shannon Kornitzva's mouth, their substitute head chef who works on a different branch on regular days – and this, Joe understands perfectly. Joe knows where, when, and how to lecture Honey exactly how she sees it fit. But every week, she has to suffer a day without him and a day with Shannon, and it is on Thursdays, when Joe goes to work from eight to twelve, and leaves at one. It is like a routine. So from one onwards, Honey switches her brain to Shannon mode and avoids, as much as her professional four-year-cooking experience can take her, errors. Errors on work, the words that come out of her mouth, and the so-called manners in the kitchen. Shannon is a perfectionist like that. The one you'd label "scary evil dentist" and have nightmares about when your mom tells you that she's taking you to the clinic.

She finds herself staring at the door again, figuring out a way how she can break in without disturbing the other tenants. For one silly moment, an idea comes to mind. But considering all the mishaps today, it becomes less and less silly in her head. This is the only way, she tells herself, fighting off the nervous jitters in her stomach.

She takes a few steps back, a deep breath, and cracks the knuckles on her fingers. Here goes nothing.

With a surge of courage, she runs forward like a maniac and hammers herself into the door, the impact causing a sharp jolt and throwing her into the air and down on the floor with a bang. Will the saying "here goes nothing" be more appropriate?

She sits there, legs bent and spread wide open, with a broken nose, a bump on the head, a sore chest. This is gonna hurt like a bitch tomorrow. In fact, her body hurts so much now she feels like it's gonna crack open.

Maybe banging yourself against the door to open it isn't the best idea after all.

Just when she resorts to the idea of falling dead asleep out there in the hallway, the door opens and like an angel sent from the sky, Phi, her roommate appears at the doorway. "Honey? What are you doing out here? And what the heck was that? Was that you?"

"What was what?"

"That." Phi stresses, his arms gesturing wildly. "That thing that made this horrible noise. What was it?"  
"I'll give you a hint." Honey looks up, giving Phi a better view of her face. His wide eyes are telling her that he sees it.

"Oh, my God." Phi says, worried. "Who did this to you? Did someone hurt you? Where are the filthy bastards?"

"No, nobody hurt me." Honey whines weakly, wanting to hear none of Phi's overreactions right now.

"It's alright, Honey, you can tell me." Phi bends down beside her, brown, pointed eyes boring into hers.

"Don't be stupid, Phi." Honey gives him a dark look, remembering last month's incident when Phi popped a guy at a bar when he witnessed how the pervert tried to grab her ass. Phi is a perfectly sweet guy, but he has tendencies.

"Then tell me what happened to you." He demands, standing up and crossing his arms.

"I tried opening the door but it wouldn't budge, so…" She takes Phi's offered hand and gets up from the floor. "… so I thought maybe it needed stronger pushing."

"What?"

"I _bodily_ pushed myself against the door, thinking I could get it opened that way."

"You're insane. It opens the other way, remember?"

Oh, yeah. The lucky door, they used to call it. Out of all the doors here in this building, this is the only one that opens the opposite way. You don't push it – you pull it to get it opened. Stupid, but special. Inconvenient but rare. Of course, why hadn't she thought of that? Has she finally gone around the bend? Has she gone bonkers, as her British co-chef likes to say? She slaps her forehead and winces as she remembers there's already an ugly bruise forming there.

"And why didn't you call me? I was in my room the whole time." Phi continues to rant, holding her face and swinging it from side to side to check for more injuries.

"I'm fine." Living with Phi for four years has taught her not to overdramatize. Because he overdramatizes so much more.

Phi looks down on her like a father waiting for an explanation.

"What, I was tired, and I didn't feel like stressing my vocal chords."

"That is why they invented cell phones."

"I was too tired to look for my cell phone."

"But not tired enough to beat yourself against the door?" Phi puts his hands on his hips. "Jesus Christ, that doesn't look good, Honey." He reaches out and gently traces the line around her eyes. Great, a black eye. Awesome.

She flinches at the sting.

"Come on, let's get you some ice."

Phi gathers Honey's things, her purse, and the two paper bags that rest on the floor, and carry them in his arms. "That is not gonna look good tomorrow."

Honey rolls her eyes and pretends she isn't listening.

3

"That is not gonna look good tomorrow."

"This is your fifth time saying that." Honey groans as she continues to let the bag of ice cool the swelling on her face. Her whole body feels raw and tender, like they're changing skin. Or something. Maybe all of today's stress has sum up to what she's currently going through tonight – swollen face, aching bones, pounding head. Not exactly how a girl would like to end a day that is crappy to begin with. If it weren't for Phi's generous offers to run the water for her, prepare their dinner, and do all the rest on her behalf, she probably would have lost the will to live by now. Good thing she has him.

Her body hurts everywhere but at least now she's emotionally rested. A warm thirty-minute bubble bath has really worked wonders. After getting out of the tub, she felt a wave of optimism that let her know that despite today's unfortunate turn of events, today will be a good start. She got dressed just in time for dinner, where Phi was waiting for her in the kitchen, saying "You don't want the food to get cold."

They ate together quietly at first before Phi decided to break the silence and talk endlessly about sports, the weather, and a ball that ran amok on a neighbor's balcony.

"It was Joe's fault – he slammed at the ball too hard."

Joe, also known as the guy who "slammed at the ball too hard", has been Honey's mentor and boss for the last four years, at least that's how she perceives him to be. And she admires the guy. He is man of principle and she feels immeasurably lucky to have found herself under his wing. And it is through him that she met Phi some three years ago when she finally decided to move to Sacramento for good since she landed a permanent job at La Provence and was scouting for a decent place to stay. As fate would have it, Phi was also searching for a new flatmate since his former one moved out and eloped with some Venetian girl. Enter Joe, the bridge that brought them together. He filled them in on each other's concerns and it wasn't too long before Honey stumbled upon this really reserved, laid-back gentleman who she soon discovered cleans up better than she does. Their first meeting remains fresh in her memory.

"I'm sorry but this has been a mistake. It was actually my friend who gave your company a call because he thinks my sex life is in dire need of some updating so he set me up with one of you. Sorry to tell you this but I'm perfectly okay without it. So here's a hundred bucks, good night and again, I'm sorry if I had wasted your time."

Honey stood there, open-mouthed, eyes bugging out, as Phi closed the door on her face. Well at least he had enough courtesy not to slam it. She had no idea what just happened and had no intention of finding out. Unless he came out here in five minutes to clarify things, she would turn on her heels and head her way out. She was on the verge of executing the said plan, when the door opened and the same man's head peered out. "Oh, my God, you're not a call girl, are you?"

Duh? She remembers having the pleasure of hitting his head with a metal urinal at the time. She knew, in perfect confidence, that she did not look slutty enough to make such a lascivious impression on him in a prostitute, call girl way. Or did she? This guy must be smoking crack. She had to leave. She decided to try her luck someplace else where people don't open the door and associate the possibility of prostitution with the first woman that they see.

"I'm so sorry. What was I thinking?" Honey remembers the amusing look on Phi's face that said he wanted to smack himself a hundred times on the head. "You wouldn't, by any chance, be Honey Perez, would you?"

"Actually I am she." Honey also remembers how Phi gawkily scratched the back of his head as the revelation put a red tint on his face. "I don't know if Joe told you but he gave me your address and told me to drop by today. I just assumed you already heard from him."

"I have, actually." He mumbled quietly, nervously. "I guess it slipped my mind. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to offend you in any way. Oh Gosh, this must be so awkward." He began muttering inaudible words under his breath, fingers shaking.

"Well..." She bit her lower lip and looked down at the floor. "I'm willing to forget about it." He did look genuinely sane; the whole thing must have had an explanation behind it.

"Are you sure?" He asked, with that apologetic but hopeful smile. It wasn't exactly a smile, more like a mild twitch.

"Yeah." Honey nodded, "but first you gotta tell me what that was all about." There was a little laugh in her voice that seemed to have relaxed his tensed demeanor.

"I don't know if you've heard about um… hook-up 'companies'." he said, his hand doing airquotes,

"I have." If he was talking about those companies who sent out prostitutes for desperate unsexed callers, then, yes, she had heard about those.

"Well, my friend Phil, he… um, made a call to one, I guess to update my… social life. I told him I didn't want some stranger knocking on my door with all the wrong intentions, but he just wouldn't listen. I know – he's a little stubborn monster."

"So you thought I was the girl… that the company sent in…"

"Yes…" He was biting his lower lip thoughtfully and looking at her through long, thick eyelashes, the kind of look that said he was the kind of man who understood the good moral conduct very thoroughly. "I'm sorry. Not that I thought you looked like uh…"

"I'm sure you didn't."

"So, shall we start from the beginning then?" Phi laughed out a nervous breath when Honey bobbed her head with an amused smile. "So, I'm Phi, or Jeff, or whatever you prefer to call me... and this... is my apartment." He motioned behind him.

"I'm Honey, or Catalina, or whatever you prefer to call me…" Phi smiled when he sensed her mockery, "and I'd very much love to check out what's inside of all that. I'm practically homeless right now."

"Honey, then." Good, she always hated her real name.

"Phi, then." Phi had more character than Jeff.  
They shook hands and Phi opened the door wider to allow her to pass. Honey loved what she saw immediately, all things considered; the lilac wallpaper, wooden flooring, just the homey, spacious room in general. She knew right there and then that she was talking to the guy she'd be living with for the months, or years, who knows, to come. Phi toured her around every corner of the apartment, explaining all that needed to explained, which was no longer a need since she had already made up her mind as soon as they hit the spotless kitchen, but she had to appear tentative. Eagerness didn't really look attractive on women.

"So… what do you think?" Phi asked humbly when they stopped at the living room to conclude the little tour, his hand gesturing around. "Oh, but don't give me an answer yet. I want you to think about it."

Honey was about to do or say something noncommittal, when someone knocked on the door.

The scarred expression on Phi's face made her laugh inside. "Excuse me, I gotta go and um… have a little talk with the um… girl." He said before muttering "God, Phil, I'm swear I'm gonna kill you." under his breath.

"Of course, you take your time…" Honey said, smiling meaningfully, and added, "…roomie."

Phi's face did light up then. "Really? You've, um, decided to stay here?"

"Yes, now, go, your little girl friend's waiting for you." Honey pointed at the door with her puckered lips and Phi laughed heartily, saying "I like you, Honey." and turned to answer the knock and shoo the little hooker away.

They've been roommates ever since.

"So were you able to get the ball back?" And fast forward to the present, four years later, when they've shared more than a little chats, more than a few meals, more than a few arguments. Four years rooming with a guy, one would think, is hard, considering the whole "women are from Venus and men are from Mars" principle, but four years rooming with Phi isn't. He's probably the easiest person to be with, attentive but not nosy, sweet but not intrusive, appreciative but not demanding, laid-back but not introverted. He is the perfect gentleman, actually, who opens doors for women, gives up his seats to the old on bus rides, spare parking spaces to the handicapped. But don't think the gentlemanliness is all there is to this man. Phi also knows how to play. Oh, yeah, he has those moments, too.

"No. We didn't even know exactly where it crashed. Oh, well, I guess Rynan has to buy himself a new one."

And that was the end of that. He moved on to talking about new work-out routines he was planning to try out. One of his closest friends, Ben, works as a fitness trainer for rich people who can afford wasting money on those criminally expensive fitness sessions. But Phi has been scoring himself free sessions recently, and maybe that's why he somehow looks_… buffer…_ on Honey's eyes.

"Do you think they're working though?" Phi asked, putting his spoon and fork down, pausing to accentuate his biceps.

Honey wanted to scream yes with a capital Y, but stopped herself. Phi is looking hot these days and she wonders why. It can't possibly because of the extra muscles forming in his arms, or the fuzz that is growing on his virginal face, because no, Honey likes his men small and free from facial hair. But why is it that Phi is looking like a sparkling drink of water right now?

Honey remembers clearing her throat before she could find her voice. "Yeah. You look good." And by good, she means… well, something else.

With a full tummy, Honey stretched out on the couch as Phi virtuously washed the dishes. She was watching an episode of _Good Morning, Miss Sunshine,_ a sixties classic TV soap, when he emerged from the kitchen with a basin and a bag of ice. "This is for the ugly bump on your head."

"Gee, thanks." Honey rolls her eyes sarcastically and reaches out for the bag with a huff. "Is my life doomed?"

"It's an almost insignificant purple lump – what you have to worry about is the panda eyes." Honey stares blankly at him as he plops down on the opposite end of the couch, hugging her sheen and gently laying her aching lower legs on his lap. He begins to absentmindedly stroke on them, as though he barely notices his fingers are doing a whole manner of unspeakable things to her. Damn, if that doesn't feel good.

Honey would've moaned, but she decides against it and pretends that she's too engrossed on whatever her hand on the remote has come across instead.

"Does it hurt as bad as it looks?" He asks considerately, placing back his chamomile tea down on the coaster after giving it a conservative sip.

"Are you talking about my fractured nose, or my swollen forehead, or my black-eye? I need specifications, Phi."

He sighs with a little laugh and shakes his head. "Boy, you _are _doomed."

She hits him on the arm, not so lightly. "You're supposed to be making me feel better."

"Aww, I'm sorry." He baby-talks, "What can Phi-phi do for the honey pie?"

"Well, for one, you can lose that stupid infantile voice of yours, and ask me how my day went." She doesn't really find the baby-talking dumb. In fact, she misses it whenever Phi goes on a vacation to visit his family all the way from Phoenix for a few weeks. Not that he has to know that or anything.

"Why, what happened?"

"The Carter sisters got fired."

"All three of them?"

"Yeah. And it was because the management is filing a satiation issue. They think the restaurant is overemployed, and due to a little bit of crisis, they find it best to start kicking the newbies out one by one. Or in the case of the Carter sisters, three by three." Phi sees through her worried eyes. "Hey, you don't think you're gonna get fired, do you? You've been busting your butt off for that restaurant for four long years and I'm sure your delicate efforts haven't gone unnoticed. They can't possibly be thinking of firing you."

"I can't be too sure, Phi." She says, despite the truth in his words. "What if they'll find someone with greater and wider experience and fire me anyway regardless of how long I've worked in that place?"

"Then they're crazy."

"What if they are?"

"You're not gonna get fired, okay? End of story." Phi is still rubbing on her lower legs in slow, rhythmic circles, gradually easing all the pain away. "Now do you want a massage? Maybe that'll lighten up your day."

Getting a Phi massage is the best way to end a night. Honey is a firsthand witness of this because she may never have gone to the massage clinic that Phi's working at, but she is blessed with free massages at home whenever Phi's hands aren't too tired to do their magic. Especially on sucky days like this, she knows she's bound to get lucky in the midst of all the suckiness.

Phi is a professional chiropractor, he makes people feel good with the use of his hands for a living, imagine the feeling of having those hands on you.

"Hallelujah." is all she can say at the moment, sitting up straight in one quick jolt.

Phi laughs and ruffles her hair, knowing perfectly how she loves his massages. "Aight, I'll go get my shenanigans ready. Wait for me in your room."

Honey stares at his broad back as he stands up to leave. If there ever is a beautiful man, Phi is one. Anyone who can have him is a lucky mortal.

Tara is that mortal. She's Phi's girlfriend.

She's Phi's _very lucky_ girlfriend.

Oh, well, she's not the one who's gonna have a good ending tonight.

Honey is.

Phi starts to shout from his room. "Hey, Honey, do you want me to include your upper and inner thighs, because I have this limited edition _Venco's _Aloe Vera thermo oil that I'd really like to try. They say it works well on the undersides."

See what she means?

"Ah, yeah… sure." She answers back in a weak voice, her hands coming down to absentmindedly caress her legs.

Damn. There's going to be some serious massaging tonight. And there she was thinking this was gonna be a bad day.

Talk about compensation.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hello? Hello? Hey, are you listening to me, man?"

She is wearing a dainty sunshine yellow blouse today, paired with black lose-fitting jeans and closed black shoes. If he were to examine closely, he'd see a red stain on her chest area, too. Must be spilled ketchup when she was hurrying this morning to get through breakfast. Running late is not her thing. She's always the first one to hit her desk, turn on her computer and get started on work, only several minutes behind the janitors and utility men.

She's listening to a co-worker as he elaborately relays what looks like vital information, and nods her head thoughtfully. She has that engrossed look on her face, with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, coupled with contemplatative nods here and there, like no outside interference can faze her concentration. He loves the way she tucks her long, dark hair behind one ear, while it drapes over the other side of her face like black, silk curtain. She continues to show interest in the one-sided conversation as she tilts her eyeglasses and pulls them lower so that they are cradled comfortably on her nose, exposing her eyes more. He's never seen her without them on, so he treasures the little moments that they descend lower down the bridge of her nose, half her eyes peeking through, before she pulls them back up again.

Then she smiles. A delicate, toothless smile. It doesn't happen often that she smiles when in the presence of another soul. She usually smiles when she's alone in her cubicle, laid contentedly back on her wheeled chair, and strumming her fingers on her desk. He always catches her smiling to the wind, as though a particularly good memory is coming back to her, and it's nice to witness that, makes him want to find out what goes on in that wondrous, mysterious head.

But then she's smiling at this guy right now. He wonders what he told her. If only he could hear.

It's weird to find so much wonderment in a stranger, especially a stranger who works a few meters from your own building and whom you've never seen anywhere else. But ever since the day he saw a girl crying and bawling her tears out while he was looking out of the tinted windows of the studio, Rynan hasn't been able to help himself but stare at her in silence. He wasn't supposed to be so intrigued by this woman, but it feels like she's keeping too many secrets in her that he can decode by looking closer. It feels like there's a line separating this woman from the rest of the world, and he's standing at that line. Weird. But that's how it feels like.

Everyday he takes one hour of his time just to stand where he's standing now and gaze at her almost unblinkingly, uninterrupted. Maybe he wouldn't have been this hooked if her face didn't flash in his mind every time he was kissing another woman's lips. Sadly, that's how things have been operating lately. He can't get laid because he's virtually in love with a next-building neighbor.

Unforgivably unexplainable, but current.

He has watched her and her quietly mysterious ways from a distance. And being the sissy that he is, he doesn't intend to close that distance. He's seen too much of her, and although he wants to see more, he doesn't know if he can.

"Earth to Rynan… Paging Captain Paguio… Hello… Are you still with me, man?"

Rynan suddenly remembers that's he's still on the phone with Phil. "Oh, um, yeah. Still here, buddy."

"Oh, I see what's going on here. Spying on mystery girl again, are we?"

"Shut up. I'm not." Rynan snaps, although he knows he can't really lie to Phil. Phil knows everything.

"You're caught, man."

"I just went to the bathroom for a bit."

"Ding! Ding! Ding! I think I can feel your nose from here Pinnochio!" Phil teases.

"I did go to the bathroom." His cover-up is lousy, as always.

"Why don't you just go up to her and ask her out, man?"

See, Phil wasn't supposed to know. Rynan did all humanly possible things he could to keep this strange thing from coming out, even to his bestfriends, but somehow, Phil found a way around it. Now, he knows not only about it but also acts like he's the master in this little unusual scenario.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you want get on top of her… don't you?"

"Geez, Phil." Rynan shakes her head and closes his eyes to block the images.

"Come on, Rynan, it's not all that hard to do. Even a pussy like you can pull it off."

"Fuck you."

"No, thank you, I have a date tonight. You can always go to Ben, though."

Rynan laughs humorlessly.

"Seriously, Rynan, just go to her building, climb up to her floor, and give her a surprise visit and voila, maybe you'll be going at it over the photocopy machine."

"You really think everything is based on sex, don't you?"

"I don't think so. I _know_ so."

"Well, I'm sorry, my gerbil friend, but there are some people who don't share that childish, ill-constructed opinion with you."

"Oh, yeah? So you're telling me you're not thinking about fondling her supple breasts when you're trying to figure out what color she's wearing today?" He asks casually.

"No!" He exclaims, loud enough to rouse suspicion from some of his students inside the room.

"Yeah, right." He can picture Phil rolling his eyes.

"I'm not!"

"Okay, you know what, fine. I'm not gonna give you a lecture today. But please Rynan, if you don't have the balls to ask her out, at least go out some. She's not the only the fish in the ocean, you know. There are trout and salmon out there waiting to be tasted."

Rynan sighs, not really knowing to response to that. "Salmon and trout live in the river, moron."

"Whatever. You know what I mean. Stop changing the subject." Phil whines. "When was the last time you actually slept with a chick?"

"That's none of your business."

"It is so, because you're my friend, and I am also concerned about your well-being." Phil puts on a mock-dramatic voice.

"And how are you exactly intending to improve it?"

"To get you laid. Sexual frustration is a dangerous threat to your health."

"I don't your help, thank you."

"You know I'm right, Rynan. You know that behind that youthful, happy facade is a lonely, sex-deprived old man."

"Can we please drop the subject? I thought you were calling me for something more important."

"I was." Phil says, suddenly sounding all business-like. "You are assigned to deliver the booze tonight."

Oh, of course, Joe's big twenty-eight surprise birthday bash. Rynan almost forgot. "What? Why me?"

"Because let's see, Joe's not supposed to know we're throwing him a party, so by associative property, he can't help with anything, Ben's taking care of the food, Kev's gonna be late because he's picking Zeke up from school, Phi doesn't get off from work 'til seven, Chris is assigned with all technical thingamabobs. So that leaves you, my friend."

"And what are _you _in charge with?" Rynan crosses his arms indignantly. Apparently his friends have all their excuses, and what does that tell him? That they have a life and he doesn't?

"I'm gonna be late, too."

"Why?"

"I have to pick up my date, selfish. And she hates it when I make her wait."

Rynan heaves one, long defeated sigh. "Fine, fine. I'll pick 'em up."

"Good."

"Aight, man, I gotta go attend to the kids now." Rynan turns around to find his students forming a small huddle on the floor. Okay, time to pick up where he left off. He snaps his phone shut and takes one last moment to look at her. She's still smiling, but this time, no one is around to see it.

Well, no one, that is, but him.

Will she still be smiling like that if she finds out there's a voyeuristic twenty-six-year-old dance teacher across her building spying on her behind tinted windows?

Then she looks at him.

Her eyes are searching out, as though looking for answers.

It's not possible – she can't see him. This window is tinted. No… Rynan panics, looks around for help, and then… she looks away.

Phew. That was close.

2

Hayge frowns at the ugly red stain on her compact powder mirror and clicks her tongue. It looks like a giant polka dot situated precisely on the middle of her breasts, standing out in her contritely yellow button-down blouse. _That's what you get for eating spaghetti for breakfast on a busy Friday morning. _She scolds herself for the millionth time. People at work even go up to her solely to say "Nice blouse" in that wily, sarcastic tone. Ugh. The only person who cared to spare her from the humiliation was Todd, the gay research accountant from Acquisitions, and he came here to say a lot of good things, too. Like how the company plans to give them all a salary raise for this month, and... a possible promotion for her, maybe. Hayge can't help but be happy to hear that. She has always liked Todd; he isn't the typical, prying quidnunc like most gay people are, and he is a man of honest words, so Hayge is feeling lucky. It's nice to know her extended efforts for the company will be honored with the rightful recognition soon.

Speaking of efforts, Cutie McHottie and his little friends haven't exerted any as far as getting back the ball that they carelessly tossed on her backyard is concerned. She has fallen asleep last night deciphering the RSP written on it. Must it be the name's initials of one of them? Must it be Cutie McHottie's initials? Umm… let's see… RSP… RSP… RSP may stand for Robert Steven Pattinson? That's unlikely. None of them looks like a Pattinson. Peralta, maybe, or Perez. But not Pattinson, or Patterson. Robert Steven Peralta, or Rick Samuel Perez. Ooh, Rick would look good on McHottie. But if she really thinks about it, she's up against, what, six billion possibilities and more. There's no narrowing this down, but it _is_ fun to make out what those three letters bear, even if there's a kazillion chances she's wrong. After hours the mind-wrestling, she fell asleep on her couch, the ball by her feet, as her arm dangled innocently down to the floor. She woke up later than usual, got dressed, and ate the spaghetti leftover from the night before. And as fate would have it, some of it spilled on her front. Her mountainous front.

Now it looks like she's setting a new trend: a single big polka dot on a plain yellow blouse. That's not so good. She hates polka dots to begin with, now a big red doesn't make her hate it any less. She finally quits whining and puts her compact powder back inside her purse. The others seem to be gathering their things already as the sun begins to set. It's not even half past five yet but all are itching to go out of the building, finished or unfinished with their work for the day. That's forgivable on Friday afternoons. It's like that song,

"_Thank God it's Friday night and I just got paid. Just got paid, Friday night. Party humping, feeling right. Booties shaking all around, pump that jam, that's why I'm getting down." _

Time to party. Yay! Not really. If there is ever a hard worker who refuses to partake in the Friday explosion of festivities, Hayge is that hard worker. Not that she has no other choice but to bury her nose into the computer while the others are crowing about the newest joint in town or anything like that – Hayge can very much party if she wants to. But it is in her belief that work unfinished is no work at all. And with all the spreading rumors that the company is giving away promotions, and that she may, God willing, be one of the candidates, Hayge finds it a duty to live up to that hypothetical, but very much possible, privilege. Set a good example for the rednecks, you know.

"I hear Gandalf is in town!"

Hayge shakes her head as the others applaud and cheer and hoot at the news. Gandalf, or originally named Henry Chu, is an ex-accountant who's supposedly this "party wizard", thus the ill-conceived, copied name. Well, if he's the god, or the herald for better living, can he help keep the company from falling into the hands of corrupt officials? Can he help those oppressed interns be provided with less hours and better working conditions? Can he get the ugly red stain off Hayge's shirt? Can he? Can he?

She wonders when would be the time when they can love their work and enjoy it, not daydream about the glorious second that they can run one lightyear away from it. But it is sometimes hard to when there's a whole bunch of anomalies going on behind those walls, when you know that you're being cheated on by the very people you're working your ass off for, when there are too many uncalled-for demands, when you're working with stubbornly difficult people, day after day after day. It's a cycle you have to live with – a sickening, hateable cycle. She wonders what it might be like if she worked on the other side of this street, what it would be like to discover the mystery behind the next building's dark, tinted windows? Might a better, more exciting life await for her there? For some unknown reason, she finds herself looking ahead and staring at it for three hours straight on random days; it helps calm her nerves down when nothing goes her way. Weird. But the mind wants what it wants.

She's planning to pull an all-nighter tonight. A plan she is determined to carry out.

When the last person in the floor turns off his lamp shed, grabs his coat and goes out the door, Hayge scratches her eyes and glowers at the moving digits on her computer. Great. Dancing numbers. What's next? Talking letters? She stands half-way up to check if anyone is still around to share the darkened room with her. But the silence is all she needs to know the answer. It's not like this is her first time to be the last soul left in this building.

Just when she's about to open the files her boss e-mailed to her, a fellow analyst, the newest recruit in their department, Taz, comes sprinting in with a big smile.

"Haygee, you're still here. Overtime on a Friday night?" Taz jerks her face as if to show sympathy.

"Yeah, just… um… staying in the game."

"But it's a Friday night, Haygee." One thing Hayge remembers about Taz is her uncanny fondness to add a little funk in her name – Hay-gee, which doesn't sound all that bad. "There's only one Friday night in a whole week."

Hayge simply smiles, giving her a 'so what' eyebrow curl.

"Oh, come on." Taz scoffs, squeezing herself in the cubicle and sits on Hayge's table. "You really have to learn to live a little, babe."

Taz has always been the little sister out of the lot, keeping friendly ties with anyone concerned. And she's the only girl who can go up to Hayge and talk to her like they're BFF's forever. Not that she has any problem with that all. It's nice to be on the same page with someone like Taz – she has… _character._

"I am living. And I'm living a lot." Hayge reasons defensively, pointing at her computer. "And this is how I live."

"No, all of this is just a routine. And life can't possibly be just about that." Taz counteracts. "Life _is_ about work… and party, too. It's all about balance."

"Ehhh…"

"Don't you 'ehhh' me. When was the last time you went out and had a drink or two with your friends?"

"I drink everyday. Water. It's good. Have you tried it?"

"Haygee! I watch you work everyday, and I look up to you and everything, work-wise, but the well-being of your social life is crying out for help."

Hayge remains silent, keeping her eyes glued to the monitor.

"Are you waiting for me to leave?"

Hayge laughs. "Yes."

"No, uh-uh. Because you, darling, are coming with me."

"What? Where are we going?"

"It's my boyfriend's surprise birthday party that his buddies are throwing for him tonight and I'd really love you to come."

"But I can't. I gotta finish this report tonight."

"No, no you don't. All those papers can wait." Taz grabs both of her hands and pulls her up. Okay, this is getting really serious.

"Taz…" Hayge warns.

"You can't say no. My boyfriend is gonna be so sad without you there."

Hayge rolls her eyes, but puts her coat on anyway. She has to admit though, she may want to finish it all tonight, but it can't be done – not when she's starting having delusions. "Sad? He doesn't even know me."

"Oh, but I will tell him about a coworker who stubbornly refuses a generous invite to his party. And trust me – he's really emotional and sensitive."

Oh, well, this party may not be such a bad idea after all. She shuts down her computer and smiles. "You're too funny."

"So I heard about your possible promotion. Congratulations, sister. You should get it and keep it out of that bitch Mia's hands."

"I hope so."

"Always a girl of few words, you are Haygee." Taz says. "…but a girl of few words who's gonna get soooo drunk tonight." Taz hollers as Hayge laughs and follows after her.

3

"This is exactly why I don't wanna be a woman."

Honey rolls her eyes at Phi's reflection in the mirror, making sure not to smear lipstick on her white cocktail dress as he squeezes against her, knocking her off at the side. "What's your problem, dude?"

"I mean, of course, yeah, you're all cute and delicate with your pink lips and long eyelashes ready to bat away anytime, and those dangerous curves all for our viewing pleasure…" He says as nimble fingers button his black Versace polo on. "But I don't know, sometimes I think being a woman also requires the patience to maintain all of that. And I don't have it."

"Are you talking to me?"

"All guys have to do is put some pants and a decent shirt on, and off we go." Phi smoothens down all the creases in his shirt, pulling it by the collars for a better fit and arranges the cuffs into neat folds. He turns to look at Honey and ruffles her hair. "You better hurry. I don't want the guys thinking I'm the one causing the delay."

Honey freaks out and frantically pushes his hand away. "OH! Great, now I have to do my hair all over again. It _is_ you who's causing the delay!"

"No, you look fine. Let's go."

Honey pouts and grabs the combs from the counter, before Phi takes it from her hand. "I'm sorry, Honey. Come here, let me do it."

Oh, now he sounds guilty. Gently Phi brushes her long, brown hair, expertly grabbing a handful here and there to shape it into place. Even unintentionally Honey feels like Phi is giving her a scalp massage. Screw that shit. She hates it when Phi does this to her, regardless of the innocence of the man in question. Honey closes her eyes and stands still as Phi continues to style her hair in his own, cute amateur way. Now that she has shut eyes, all her other senses are heightened. She can hear every Phi's every breath intake, feel every gentle tug he makes on her hair, smell the consuming musky scent of his cologne. She tries to feel relaxed as a jumble of jitters makes an uncomfortable jerk in the pit of her stomach. You know, that butterflies-in-the-stomach kind of feeling when you know you're about to get kissed?

Not that Phi would ever kiss her. The seven plagues would have to happen first.

In the long four years of rooming together, not once has Phi made a move on or shown any particular interest in her. They've carefully kept the bond platonic, and no more than a wholesome, brother-and-sister relationship. Most of the time, it's a relief to know you have someone to care for you and not be hesitant to show it, almost like an insightful kid brother who has all the right aims, someone you can go home to when life goes bad. But sometimes, some super rare times, Honey can't help but ask, "Why can't he just fall in love with me so both of us can be happy?"

That is usually answered by one, ringing word – Tara.

Phi is head-over-heels in love with Tara. She's the perfect woman for him. He's the perfect man for her. Together they're perfect, like a match made in heaven. And she, the insignificant roommate that she is, can do nothing about that.

In her times of desperation, Honey would close her eyes and listen intently as Phi whispers sweet, intimate nothings into the phone, chuckles in soft, low breaths, as a silent, endearing 'I love you' would follow at its wake. Yes, Honey does that, and fantasizes that she's the girl on the other end of the line. If that's not desperate, then she doesn't know what is.

No one can really blame her, though. It isn't hard to fall in love with Phi, especially when you're living under one roof with him. He's always that loveable, passionate guy who knows when to come in and when to come out. He's just easygoing like that.

Honey peeks through one eye and heaves a helpless sigh at the sight of Phi's beautiful form. Easygoing? Don't forget hot.

Phi and polo shirts are a perfect match. Put a Phi in a polo, or put a polo on a Phi – whichever way works. The end result is all that matters. Phi has a face of an angel, with pointy eyes and pouty lips, and a body of a dancer, broad shoulders and long, lean legs. This black Versace shirt has made no mistake of choosing him as its owner. He looks dashing as ever.

"Aight, you're all done." Phi announces proudly.

Honey opens her eyes altogether and turns to check the fruit of Phi's labor on the mirror and shrugs. "Mmm. Not bad for an inexperienced neophyte like you."  
"I'm not inexperienced. You just refuse to recognize my talents." There's something about the way he speaks, too, that Honey can't stand not hearing for at least a day.

"Whatever, newbie. Now come on, let's get going before the others think we've been kidnapped and chopped into pieces and thrown into a dumpster on the way."

"Oh, okay, I'mma let Tara now we're heading over."

Honey nods curtly before Phi stomps off the bathroom, fishing his cellphone out of his pocket as he leaves. She feels that nasty tingle in her stomach again. She couldn't help herself if she wanted to. They always wait for Tara. Tara never waits for them. Honey figures she should've just decided to go to Joe's birthday party alone, and let Phi and that girl have their privacy. Maybe it's better than having your face shoved to the idea that Tara is important and she matters the most to Phi, every single time.

Honey is adding the final touches to her good girl ensemble when Phi reappears at the doorway. He has that forlorn frown in his face that lets Honey know something's wrong. He leans against the door frame, and says, in a small voice, "Tara can't go."

"Oh." Why, who would've thought? "Why?"

"Something, uh, came up at work." Phi is looking the least amused, though. "I guess it'll just be me and you then."

Honey is rejoicing over the fact that little miss perfect won't be able to make it, but she is hating the look of hurt on Phi's face with dangerous conviction. "Oh, I'm sorry, Phi."

"See, I knew this would happen. I knew she'd bail out the last minute."

"I'm pretty sure she wasn't expecting this, either."

Phi moping around over his love life and Honey comforting him – this has happened way too many times before.

Phi is looking at her direction, but it seems like he's staring into space. "Well, I do hope you're right."

"Aww, cheer up, Phi-phi." Honey walks over to him and stops when they're only inches apart. "It's Joe's birthday tonight and he wouldn't want to see you looking like that."

"I'm okay." His eyes remain on the floor.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"I can do a strip-tease for you right now if that can put a smile on your face."

Phi looks up with a baffled expression. "You're scaring me."

Honey releases a laugh when he shakes his head, his tickled little smile showing. "Aww, see? That's so much better." She reaches out and pats his soft, right cheek. "You be a good boy, now."

Phi grasps her hand… gently, just like he does everything else, and squeezes it a little bit, before putting it down. "I'm _your _good boy."

He always says things that would've have been wonderful if they had meanings behind them, meanings that she wants them to have. But there's an uncrossed line between Phi and her, a boundary that they're forbidden to step out of, an unwritten rule that they cannot break. Phi may be saying these sweets things to her, but she knows at the end of they day, they're all just for her to enjoy while she can.

They're all just words of endearment. They don't hold any concrete, deeper extension in them.

"Of course you are. Now let's go, I'm so hungry I can eat you."

Phi grins menacingly and scoops her up in his arms, her feet leaving the floor, and drapes her body over his shoulder. "Not before I eat you!"

Honey hollers in laughter as Phi races and takes them out of the room.

In the meantime, though, Honey contents herself with little fun acts Phi loves to pull off on her.

Who, in their right mind, would complain anyway? 


	3. Chapter 3

Hayge has no idea why she's here. This is her breaking her own rules. There are too many people in here; too many intoxicated excited people dancing their drunken asses off like no one else is around. This is not her scene at all. And what's this drink the bartender just gave her? Gasoline? Is he trying to burn her throat to death? Hayge winces as she swallows it down straight. Better to get it over with once and for all. Being a lightweight is not an impressive trait when you're at a swamped, juvenile party like this, and she's just not in the mood for all the obligatory teases.

She strains her neck, examining the crowd, her eyes panning over to almost everyone. Taz is nowhere in sight, Taz who ungraciously left her by the bar to look around for her boyfriend, the birthday boy. Now she's sitting here all by herself with an empty glass that Mr. Bartender is more than willing to refill. This is the very reason why she doesn't see the big deal in bar parties. It's all loud music, bumping sweaty bodies, and murderous alcohol. If you want someplace where you can chill, relax, and engage in conversations, this is not the place to go. Now, if you want to impair your hearing, burn your throat, and heat your loins, then be its guest.

"Haygee!"

Hayge turns around in her seat to find Taz emerging out of the crowd, tagging someone behind her. Oh, wait, that someone looks familiar. No, scratch that. Very, very, _very _familiar.

He's Dimple Head. What's Dimple Head doing here?

"I want you to meet my boyfriend." She gushes, smiling just in time for Hayge to let it all sink in. "Joe, this is Haygee, she works for our company, and Haygee, this is Joe, he works for me."

Joe giggles at Taz as he extends his hand. "Hi, Haygee. So glad you could come. And no, I don't work for her."

There's something weird about coming face-to-face with someone you've only watched twenty meters away from you. Hayge tries to act complacent and returns his handshake. "Happy birthday, Joe. And I had to come here, Taz would've killed me on the spot otherwise."

"Aww, I didn't know you had a sense of humor, Haygee." Taz laughs along with Joe and loops her arm around his own.

Then the unmistakable intro to the song "Love in this Club" song blasts through the giant speakers and Taz turns to Joe with ecstatic eyes. "Oh, that's our jam, babe! Come on, let's dance."

"Are you sure you're gonna leave your friend here?" He hesitates as Taz tugs on his arms.

"She's a big girl, she can take care of herself." Taz winks at Hayge. "Right, Haygee?"

Hayge feigns a big smile. "Sure."

"See? Now, come here and shake your cute little butt with me." Joe shrugs at Hayge with a sheepish, close-mouthed smile and lets Taz pull him to the crowd with her.

"What a small world" would be the best thing to say right about now.

Dimple Head's name is Joe. He has a cute laugh, and he is Taz's boyfriend. And his dimple looks cuter in close-up.

Must she tell Taz she's been spying on her boyfriend, along with his other friends, on Thursday afternoons for the last five months? Speaking of which, if it's Dimple He—Joe's birthday, then Short Stuff, Chocolate Man, Neighbor Guy, Big Smile, Droopy Snoopy and Cutie McHottie must be here, too. And maybe they're the "friends" that Taz said threw him this party.

OMG. She rarely says that immature abbreviation, but she will now. OMG. Or better yet, OMFG.

Like a mini parade, six recognizable men come waltzing in the room, making Hayge repeat OMG a million times in her head, multiplied by a thousand. It's them. All of six them, Dimple Head aside. They're here. And not to play basketball. They're all in their stylish clothes, wearing auspiciously pleasant faces, laughing and hooting like the rest of the guests. And Hayge gulps, feeling the urge to melt and disappear.

And then Cutie McHottie looks her way. He's looking her way. And his relaxed demeanor morphs into something else once their eyes connect. Hayge can't seem to pin it down, but there's something devotedly ashen in his face, as though he's just seen a ghost. Does she really appear that darnedly ruffled right now?

He looks away just as Droopy Snoopy whispers something into his ear and steals his attention altogether.

Oh, boy. Some night this is turning out to be.

***2***

The club is packed tonight. Honey didn't know Joe has this many friends, or maybe, these are all Phil's friends, ex-girlfriends included. He was the one in charge with the guest list. Figures since people started cheering when he got inside the vicinity. Phil, of course, got them the best seats in the house, crowing over and over that he was the one who was making all of this possible while the others refused to help. Ben, Rynan and Chris threatened to strangle him.

Honey struggles to keep a straight face as women after women flutter their fake eyelash extensions at Phi while he passes them by. He flashes them a modest smile every now and then, doing that courteous little bow that, in Honey's opinion, is too wholesome to pass for anything. That's his Vietnamese heritage showing through. Maybe he doesn't realize the girls are asking to be felt up, not be kissed on the forehead.

The ladies dig Phi, as Phil puts it, and who is Honey to disagree to that? She witnesses how much of a _diggable_ guy he is the moment she opens her eyes in the morning to the moment she closes them at night. Imagine her agony, being with him that often wanting him that much. It's a curse.

"Had I known you guys would be throwing me a surprise party, I would've cancelled the reservation I made at Rendezvous." Joe says, sipping on his beer. "This night was supposed to be our night." He says to Taz, his girlfriend, desperately, who's seated next to him, shrugging.

"Why, you are welcome, Mister Larot, sir." Phil chides sarcastically. "After all the hard work we had to put in to make all this possible, that's all we needed to hear from you. You're too sweet, though. A quick "eat shit" would've been rewarding enough."

"Relax, Phil." Joe rolls his eyes, laughing a little. "I'm not saying this isn't fun at all. I just wish you could've forewarned me a bit so I didn't have to call all the way to Los Angeles for the trip… But it's all good!" Joe spurts out nervously as six pairs of eyes flash him dark, dangerous looks. "At least I have you guys with me… and those other people…" His eyebrows meet as he looks over the crowd. "Wow, I never I realized I knew this many people."

"Blame Phil and stupid guest list." Ben says. "See? What did I tell you? You invite one person, and that person tags long another person, who tags along other persons, who will call other persons to come along with them. And this is what you get, a whole crowd of strangers grinding against each other on the dance floor."

"Guys, guys, incoming." Chris hisses under his breath, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively. Honey sighs away as a group of model-esque girls in mini-skirts and scandalous tops walks by their table, giving their curvaceous hips an extra sway.

"Who are _those_?" Ben asks quietly, his deep, booming voice almost causing a mild vibration in their table.

"Blame Phil and his stupid guest list, huh?" Phil smiles smugly, all arrogance evident on his too-perfect face.

Ben's eyes trail after the women's retreating curves and he chooses to ignore Phil's inane comment. Instead he gets to his feet and bites his bottom lip in a decisive manner. "If you can excuse me, gentleman, I have something important to attend to."

One would think Ben was the shy, laid-back type. But in truth? Nahhh.

"Hey, don't go without me, dude!" Chris gets to his feet and rushes after Ben.

"What about you, Rynan? What's your plan?" Phil asks.

"What do you mean what's my plan?"

"You're the only single guy left. Why don't you go fish some of those hot catch yourself?"

"Nah, I'd rather… um…" Rynan purses his lips, contemplating. "Hey, man, can I talk to you for a second?" He clears his throat, "In private?"

Phil gives him a surprised look but shrugs it off. "Yeah, sure."

Joe and Taz exchange questioning stares as Rynan and Phil stand up to go somewhere for their little alone time, leaving Joe, Taz, Kevin, Phi, Honey and the new girl – _what'shername_ – Phil's date, to be safe, behind. Sometimes with the intimidating number of Phil's girlfriends, it's sometimes hard to keep up with the names.

"So, how long have you guys been together?" She asks, breaking the momentary silence.

"Three years." Taz jumps in proudly. "Ain't that right, Joe?"

"Three years and three months, give and take a few days." He corrects, beaming at his girl.

Joe and Taz are, what one can say, a happy couple. They love, laugh, fight and make up all for the right reasons. Must be nice to have someone like that at your disposal. Hah.

"But I'm not talking to you." Unknown Girl clarifies. "I'm talking to them."

"Us?" Phi and Honey ask in chorus, eyeing her pointed finger at them curiously.

"Yeah, how long have you been seeing each other? Phil's told me you guys live together."

Phi gives Honey a frantic, clueless look, as though begging her to burst the bubble. She gulps. "Uh, well, Phi and I are not together."

"What?"

"We're not dating." Phi supplies.

"No?" Unknown-turned-nosy-girl asks. "But you do live together, right?"

"Yes, as roommates." Honey stresses, and Phi nods along.

"What? So you're telling me you are living in the same house but you're not… seeing each other? How is that possible?"

Awkward moment. This is one of those difficult, haunting questions that Honey tries to avoid as much as possible. Because how is it that two people belonging to opposite sexes can stay under one roof and maintain the non-romantic, non-sexual, platonic vibe, especially when you've living with someone like the one sitting next to her right now? Honey, in a number of occasions, fights the temptation to answer, "Because I have an unimaginably strong self-restraint."

"You're not gay, are you?" She whispers closely to Phi.

Phi laughs and shakes his head. "No. No. I'm not. I am happily committed to a girl."

"Ohhhhh…." Ms. Nosy says, "Married?"  
Honey looks nervously at Phi from the corner of her eyes.

"No… But uh, who knows, right?" Phi shrugs noncommittally.

"Right." Finally awkward moment is over.

But hurt moment is not. For awhile there Honey fantasizes that the unnamed girl would ask her that same question, and she'd be all like, "four years, right, sweetie?" And Phi would nod his head fondly, and gaze at her like they were the only two people in the room. But they're living in a real world right now, and in the real world, Phi is in love with an actress, slash, model, and has a plain-looking roommate who works in a French restaurant on weekdays and organizes a pet-store on weekends for a living.

"You wanna dance?" Joe asks Taz, pulling her hands.

"Do I ever?"

The couple is on the dance floor in no time. Kevin is talking on the phone and putting one finger over his ear to drown out the overwhelming booms of the speakers. Then he snaps his phone shut and sighs. "Well, it looks like I won't be here to enjoy the rest of the night's fun."

"What? Why?" Phi asks.

"Zeke woke up and cried when he sensed I wasn't there. Cher is freaking out like crazy. Bottom line is: I gotta go. Tell the birthday boy I'm heading out, aight?" Phi has no time to even say anything before Kevin grabs his coat and dashes away, leaving them in the dust.

"Guess it's just the three of us, then, huh?" Honey comments randomly, looking around the almost-empty table that used to be occupied on all possible corners.

"I'm going to the ladies' room." Little Miss Blondie gets up from her seat, and leaves Phi and Honey listening to the cricket sounds. She can literally hear them.

"What a party. It's no fun when your friends are out their living their own little world." Phi sulks, and Honey reads from his eyes that he's probably missing Tara and wishing she was here. And what would that do to her exactly if that woman came along? Tara and Phi would be joining the others at the dance floor by now, and she would be left here all by herself, sipping on her strawberry cocktail alone. Geez. That would be some real slap on the face.

"You wanna join 'em?" Phi points at Joe and Taz, and everyone else grinding in the crowd, and a lazy smile slowly paints on her lips. Let the festivities begin.

"Let's go."

***3***

"Rynan, you gotta calm the heck down if you want to make a move on her."

Rynan wipes the sweat beads forming in his forehead, his stomach doing nasty flares and back flips. "I don't know if I'm up for this, man."

"No, no, no, you are not gonna chicken out on this one." Phil demands. "You've gone 'quack-quack' too many times before, and you are not gonna do the same thing tonight. Look at her, man, she's by herself. She needs you."

Rynan steals one good glimpse at her behind his shoulder while she cluelessly sits by the bar alone, casually observing the boisterous people around her, and averts his eyes away almost instantly. "Who brought her here anyway?"

"I don't know. Who cares? What's important is that she decided to come, and that is, without a date." Phil talks closely by his ear. "Don't you see her, man? She's begging to be noticed."

"No, she's not." Rynan is no mind-reader, but he can tell that she, the mystery woman, the woman on the next building, the woman who's unexplainably caught so much of his interest, albeit secretly, for months now, and turns up unexpectedly on Joe's birthday party, looks like this club is her last stop on earth. He can see the uneasiness in her actions, the agitation, like she's ready to jump out of here anytime soon. And Rynan hasn't made up his mind yet whether he'd let that happen before he could even say a quick 'hi' to her or not. Phil is fighting for the latter.

Phil scoffs, shaking his head in mild disbelief. "I know how women operate, man. Trust me, I've been in the business for too long. Girls like this? They have a secret to hide. They're all meek and shy, drinking a glass of the good ol' Cosmo looking like they just got back from the convent, but do you know what's really in their head?"

"What?"

"That's… what I want you to find out." Phil points out. "Now, I want you to go there, get to know her a little bit more, and get this whole stalking thing over with once and for all."

Rynan buries his face in his hands as a wave of nerve pulls his head down to the table. He can't do it. He's not as socially competent and debonair as Phil, who can charm the panties off of the women he has an eye for. No, people might perceive him that way, but deep inside all the bubbliness and the confidence, lies a timid little man. Man, did he just rephrase what Phil said to him this afternoon?

"Just relax, Rynan. Breathe. You're a desirable man; anyone would be crazy not to give in to your charms."

"Are you sure I'm talking to my friend, Phil, here?"

Phil chuckles shyly. "I've always had a man-crush on you, man. No homo."

"Stop that. You're freaking me out." Rynan warns, flinching.

"My point is there's really nothing to lose. Because if you go out there and make a good impression of yourself, then kabam, all your problems are gone…"

"What I if I go out there and make a total fool of myself? What, then, huh?" Rynan asks desperately.

"There will still be tons of women who will be waiting for you with open arms, or legs, if you may."

"This is not funny, Phil. I really wanna get to know her, you know." Rynan hates the pleading sound in his voice. "I'm tired of looking at her everyday without her aware that I exist. I'm tired of spying on her from a distance, and not even hear her voice. I wanna know who she is. Who is this mysterious woman across my building? And geez, she's like only a few feet away from me right now, and uhhh… I think I'm coming down with something. Ano ba, ha?"

Phil smiles self-assuringly, knowing he's already won. "Losing is better than not trying at all. You wanna do it or not?"

Normally, Rynan would say 'fuck no." But this is not normal. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Rynan gets off the bar stool and heaves a long, deep breath. God help him he's really gonna do it.

"I'mma give you an advice, though: pretend like she's already naked when you're still in the process of undressing her."

Phil and his sexual riddles. They're always a mystery, but Rynan is thinking this means to act smug and arrogant. In Phil's book, that's the most attractive trait that a woman can possibly salivate over in a man – his ability to take control and handle the ropes. If smug she wants, it's smug she gets.

Oh, well, here goes nothing.

***4***

Okay, that's it. She's leaving. It's been a great pleasure witnessing minors and adults alike exercising all that is wrong in humanity today, but it's way past her bedtime and she'd love to spend the remaining hours of the night in her comfortable bed. Plus, she has never seen Cutie McHottie around ever since, so whether or not that's a good thing, she renders this night a failure, all the what-if's and the could've's playing in her mind. She has been in the same room with the guy for at least two hours, three if you count the imaginary extra hour that Hayge has added in her head, and had she been the forward type, she would've run into Cutie McHottie's arms in that slow-mo, movie-ish kind of way, and profess the guilty attraction she's been feeling irrevocably about him. But Hayge is the last woman on earth who can pull off something like that. And not only that, this whole thing is just… plain… weird, and absolutely subject to anyone's ridicule. Because how are you supposed to feel any strong emotion for someone you've never even talked to before, let alone known his name? That's not a normal human brain activity and anyone would be a fool to believe that it's happening to her. She's freaking in love with a stranger! Or is it really love? She should see a therapist.

Maybe there's someone out there right now experiencing this same kind of dilemma. Why, she'd love to meet that someone. Maybe they can get married, buy a house in the countryside, and have voyeuristic kids who are also predisposed to spying on beautiful strangers and falling in love with them. Huh. She would've laughed at her own anecdote if she isn't feeling so worthless right now.

She grabs her purse resting on the counter, and is about to head out when a man's voice behind her stops her in her tracks.

"Are you a friend of the celebrant?"

She turns around and her heart almost stops. It happens like a dream. All hazy and cloudy.

It feels like an out-of-body experience as she comes toe-to-toe with Cutie McHottie. His eyes look deeper up close, more drowning, caramel in color… and his heart-shaped lips look like red candies piled on top of each other, ready to be licked on and sucked. It's almost scary. And did he just talk to her?

Oh, he asked her a question. Now, if she can just remember what it was…

"Well, are you?"

And oh, he has long, thick eyelashes, too, that seem to go on and on forever. And he's batting them at her now. Hayge feels a tremor in her stomach, an earthquake in her racing heart, and an obstruction in her throat. Now is not the time to get a blockage.

"Are you always this quiet?" He laughs a little, a flirtatious kind. Even his laugh is sexy. If Hayge should ever face her innermost fears and slay them with her only sword, now is that time.

"Um… I'm not." She takes a chance. She doesn't really know what she's disagreeing to.

"I'm Rynan." He extends his hand in one suave movement, leaving Hayge staring at it with an agape mouth for several seconds.

You're supposed to take it, you idiot! Then she awakes and clamps his hand with her own. "Hayge."

"Hayge… Wow. What a pretty name for such a pretty girl."

Okay, now say something. "It's one of a kind."

"I'm sure it is." Rynan, Cutie McHottie, Rynan, Cutie McHottie, whatever, this delightful creature has this whole smoldering thing going on, with hooded eyes and parted lips. What is he doing to her? Is she in a dream?

"So, what brings you here… Hayge?"

Did he just moan her name? Hayge tries to look for some semblance of support as her hand reaches for the counter behind her. Her knees are so weak they're gonna buck at any second. "Taz brought me here."

"Oh, Taz. Of course. You a friend of hers?"

"Co-worker."

"Ah, I see." For a second there, Hayge can see the innocence behind his dangerous, blazing eyes. Something lurks underneath them, like a look of wonderment, stupefaction. And then, in a blink of an eye, the bedroom come-hither look returns.

"You look familiar, Hayge…." He walks closer to her with a languid strut, leaning against the counter a little too confidently. "Did we sleep together before?"

And then just like that, all feeling of perilous attraction and lust disappear from Hayge's senses. And it's a sickening, quick kind of transition, as if all the clutter and dirt in her mind are vacuumed out clean, but leave it still filthy in the hidden corners. Is this guy insane? Yes, he is incredibly hot, yes, he is unforgivably sexy, with arms that have just the exact ripeness in them, but no… he has no right asking any woman such an offensive question. Her overheating light bulb just got turned off, so to speak.

Just. Like. That. They're all gone.

Funny how five months of struggling to make sure her Thursdays are vacant will result to this. Not really.

"Excuse me?" Hayge gasps, the insult in her voice evident.

"Uh… but I could be wrong…" Cutie Mchot- no, Hayge refuses to call him that now, Rynan, as this jerk refers to himself, blinks innocently, as though that would redeem him. Wrong. "It's just that you look like someone I'd want to get on top of… or under, or behind… who knows?"

Oh! Insert horrified gasps here. This guy really thinks he can get away with anything just because he's endowed with natural drool-worthy good looks? Screw good looks. This guy is a freaking asshole, a sexy, kissable freaking asshole and Hayge has ground low tolerance for that.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not interested." She says with a sharp, brave voice, glaring at him with an appalled expression.

"But of course, there was no way I could've have slept with you. Good-girl librarians were not exactly my type back then."

More gasps. Hayge feels as though she just lost her virginity to this guy's infinite horrendousness.

"But I'm open to broadening my horizons. Interested?"

Seriously Hayge cannot wrap it in her hand how this guy is coming around. Has he no idea he's scaring, offending, and assaulting the living daylights out of her, all at once?

"I don't know who you think you are, but let me tell you one thing, pal, I'm most definitely not who you think I am." Hayge points menacingly her finger at his chest, spitting the words out of her mouth. "I think you're mistaking me for someone who would be stupid enough to even consider getting to know you."

"Ooh… Playing hard-to-get, are we?"

Revolted beyond belief, Hayge decides to turn and leave. It was hell on her nerves not to just lift her hand and slap him on the face, but Hayge was a refined woman who understood how physical violence won't resolve anything.

If he were any other guy, Hayge would've not allowed herself to feel this much disillusionment over something as frequent as being hit on by drunken morons in a smoky night club, albeit very lousily, but he isn't. He's Cutie McHottie. He's Hayge's subject of desire even if it's beyond the norms of the social etiquette. He's Hayge's… knight in shining armor.

_Former_ knight in shining armor.

She must be dreaming. This must be Cutie McHottie's evil twin. She couldn't possibly have been this much of an imbecile to believe this guy was someone he was clearly not. She was creating this whole perfect little version of this man that is nothing but an illusion. This moment feels like a bucket of ice-cold water is splashed right into her face.

She finds her way out, walking and bumping past people, and curses this night and the many previous Thursdays that she turned into a fool.

***5***

Some graphic, dirty song is playing and Honey lets herself get lost into the beat of the music, moving her body in sync with the rhythm. She looks over her shoulder to find Chris rubbing himself against her back, drunken as hell, to her right is Phil, dancing fluidly with his date, and in front of her is Ben, who is leisurely checking out her gifted bearings. Oh, boys. They just can't help themselves when they're in the moment. Honey doesn't stop him, instead he loops her arms around his neck seductively and presses her body closer, encouraging him even more. She and Ben have always had a thing, it's nothing serious. But they have eyes for each other. Whatever that is, it's there.

And whatever it is, it's nothing compared to the weight of whatever she feels about Phi, Phi who is right now dancing on his own, merely getting with the flow and the movement of the crowd. Phi is a hard catch, an exclusive individual. He doesn't offer himself freely to the next person he sees. Tara is so lucky – and this can never be overemphasized.

Chris pushes against her back, the movement jerking her even closer to Ben, her feminine bulges crushed, and Honey finds herself sandwiched between two incredibly horny men. She dismisses it and continues to dance, all her reservations gone.

Something stirs and Honey looks up to see two women in conservative pieces of clothing making a move on Ben and Chris, inviting them with their gyrating hips, before the two men give into their insane curvatures and lengthy, sumptuous legs, and maneuver themselves away, leaving Honey without a partner. Another "oh, boy" moment, a concrete evidence of how men love to jump from one girl to another if a prettier one comes along. She can't really care less though; she understands perfectly how she's no match for these statuesque Terpsichore's. So she ignores the empty feeling and resolves to moving on her own. In a way, the atmosphere seems more relaxed, less pressured.

Then slowly she feels two strong arms encircle her from behind, hands gripping her hips. Only one man touches her that way, only one man wears that intoxicating cologne. She swivels around and finds Phi's face inches from hers. He's giving her a genteel smile while his eyes remain focused solely on hers. Honey's breath hitches as her mind races to digest what just happened. Phi's clutch on her feels protective, caring. He holds her gently against him, his affectionate eyes conveying secret promises.

Then his hands travel sinuously up and down her back, making her spine rattle at the sensation. She gasps.

Doesn't Phi know any action from him bears with it a consequence to Honey's body?

"_Tworking it out, we're hanging in the club,_

_Kissing and rubbing and making sweet love,_

_Damn the club tonight, let's twork it out,_

_Just me on you, from 11 to 6 in the morning,_

_I know you like it when I do you like that,_

_Let's twork it out…"_

Honey turns around, her back on him, Phi's warm, rhythmic breath on her neck tugging her eyelids down. Her hips work against his, their bodies moving together, his hands nimbly pulling her skirt up and groping her bare legs possessively. Honey's skin amalgamates at every hypnotic touch, losing her womanhood completely into the music and him. She reaches out behind her and holds his head steadily as her own head rests against his shoulder, her nose nuzzling the soft skin on his neck. She can feel the erotic press of his crotch against her butt and her knees weaken, bucking. Honey has no idea how it got to this, but hell, this feels way too good to let her mature senses take over now.

Phi knows how the exact pressure to put on a woman, not too firm, yet not to loose, not too rough, yet not too flat, just enough force to make a woman feel good and ignited. He knows how to take control of the situation, lead her to the beat of the song, but at the same time, having the manly courtesy to listen to and fulfill her body's requests.

It's wrong to be strongly aroused by this. Phi is just being a good friend, extending a hand for a lonely, loveless friend in need. But Honey can't stop herself from overheating, from turning her body into a sheath of sensitized, giant nerve endings. She feels feverish, flushed in all the right places, and there's an aching tug on her belly, that runs lower and lower by the second. Phi's hand on her thigh is not helping at all.

After too much grinding and popping, the song ends and she spins around, so that their eyes meet. Phi looks almost perfect in this lighting, with flushed cheeks and parted, pouty lips. Honey's mouth feels dry, a perfect indication that it was open for too long. Who can possibly close their mouths anyway when they're in heaven? Phi's own heaven, to be exact.

He flashes her a wide smile, that elaborately toothy smile that is only meant for her. It reminds her that he's still the old Phi, the Phi who's nothing but a platonic roommate, and a possession of another woman's heart, despite of all the hip-grinding, leg-grabbing foreplay they did just a while ago. Honey manages a smile back, and places her arms over his shoulder as a mellow, sad song comes on.

They've gone from passionate, flamed body rocking, to sweet, romantic embracing. Phi's hands now are innocently wrapped around her waist, while her arms around his neck, and Honey closes her eyes, head resting on his shoulder, and feels his every heart beat.

"_I used to think that I wasn't fun enough,_

_And I used to think I wasn't wild enough,_

_But I won't waste my time trying to figure out,_

_Why you're playing games, what's this all about,_

_And I can't believe you're hurting me,_

_I met you girl, what a difference,_

_What you see in her, you ain't seen in me,_

_But I guess it was all just make-believe…"_

Honey clings tightly as a warm tear trickles down her cheek, needing to revel in this moment, in this particular moment when Phi's holding her close, making her feel like he's hers, and she's his, even just for a while. No need to think of the painful truth at that second, because Phi's here with her right now, dancing under the lights when the rest of the world is living their chaotic lives outside.

"_Love, never knew what I was missing,_

_But I knew, once we start kissing, I found…_

_Love, never knew what I was missing,_

_But I knew, once we start kissing, I found…_

_I found you…"_

Yes, Honey finds him. Honey finds him everywhere she looks. If there was only a way to erase an emotion, she'd definitely erase this one. Erase it and keep it at least a million kilometers away from her. Or maybe that's still too near? Unrequited love and requited love look almost identical on paper, but in the actual life? Unrequited love isn't nearly as fun as she knows the other one must be. She's sure Tara understands her view perfectly.

"Tara…" Phi gasps under his breath.

"No, Phi, it's Honey, your homebuddy." Honey mumbles against Phi's shoulder, disappointed to find his hands loosening around her waist. "See the hair? It's different." 

"No…" Phi chuckles, "I mean, it's Tara, she showed up."

Oh. Honey looks over the direction of Phi's eyes and feels her heart sink as Tara waltz in through the crowd, all beautiful and Tara-ed up. Honey can see the people's heads turning in her direction as well. Tara is a consuming individual. She carries around this overwhelming presence that leaves everyone looking her way. And damn, Honey finds her so elegantly striking tonight. And yes, sadly, Phi seems to agree. There's a love-struck sparkle in his eyes now that wasn't there before.

Honey does an obligatory step backward, as though giving the new comer some room, and jerks slightly by a glowering "hey, watch where you're going, lady!" horned into her ears. Must have stepped on a foot.

Tara saunters gracefully over to Phi, and waits no second before wrapping two long arms around his neck. "I told you I could make it." She says, tainting a dreamy, sultry drawl on her voice.

"I'm sorry…" He rests his forehead against hers, hands on her waist.

"You should be."

"I guess I just have to make it up to you then."

"Don't worry; we've got the whole night ahead of us." Her words are heavy with implications that Honey didn't have to hear.

Phi says nothing but kisses her ear, whispering "You look beautiful, Tara."

Honey looks at the floor to avoid witnessing the kiss that was sure to follow. Phi tends to… _forget_ himself, and that there's a roomful of people within eyeshot that can see them snogging each other. Even forgets that he still owes Honey a dance.

She spins around, not really knowing what to do and where to go next, seeing as Phi's attention is rather _undivided_ at the moment, until her eyes halt at Joe, Chris and Ben chugging drinks down at the bar. She weighs her options. One the one hand, Honey's not much of a hard drinker. One the other… well, there's a slim chance, if nothing, that Phi and Tara are gonna let up with the kissfest soon.

Not much of a hard drinker, eh? _To hell with it._

***6***

"I panicked."

No response.

"I panicked, man."

Still no response.

"Phil!"

Phil closes his mouth once he recovers and shakes his head as incredulously as he intends to. "I believe don't you, Rynan."

Rynan sinks down in his chair and wallows in his truly award-worthy, classic defeat. Wuss would be an understatement for the little, scared monster that dwells so indefatigably in him. He wants to squish that monster.

"So, let me get this straight." Phil clears his throat. "Not only did you make a horrible, horrible ass out of yourself, which is offensive enough to begin with, by the way, but you also called her a librarian? I mean… that's even worse than the 'dogface' you used last year at the Christmas party with that hottie from my work."

"You keep track of my epic fails?"

"Do you realize the weight of the situation here?"

"Of course."

"You just blew it, Rynan. Blew it like a lousy, seventy-year-old virgin who's lived his life blowing it and blowing it some more."

"That's a way to put it."

"Irreparable damage. Irreparable damage." Phil begins to chant.

"Well, you told me to act smug, didn't you? You were the one who gave me the tip!" Rynan exclaims, in the hope of salvaging some of his dignity.

Phil narrows his eyes at him with that serious look that says he means business. "Listen here, pal, first of all, I don't use the word 'smug' and use it to replace 'confident', that's like substituting phone sex for the real thing. Second of all, even if I did say 'smug', what you did back there wasn't smug at all. It was sexual assault."

"You think I overdid it?"

"Do I think you overdid it?" Phil laughs in disbelief, swallowing down the tequila in one, big gulp. "You are a piece of work, you know that?"

"Look, I know, I know, I totally screwed up. And you know whose fault it is?"

"Uh…. Yours?"

"No, it's _your_ fault, Phil!" Rynan points his finger at Phil's chest, earning a shocked glare from Phil.

"My fault? Hey, you were the one who went out there and made that ass of an impression on her, not me."

"But you were the one who made me do it!"

Phil scoffs and shakes his head. "Yeah, I blame myself for that, too. I guess I didn't realize the extent of your social incompetence, which is now, I render, hopeless."

Rynan bangs his head against the bar counter, causing a few heads to turn. Phil was right. He's hopeless. He just wanted to do things right, but has done it all horribly wrong. He wouldn't be surprised if mystery girl will make the run for her life and stagger away from him if they ever run into each other somewhere around the city. He knows he would run from someone like him, or rather, from that presumptuous, promiscuous jerk he just turned into a while ago. His nerves can make him do a lot of things.

"Don't worry, man. This is a sign."

"A sign?" He talks into the hollow that his folded arms have looped into, head still buried in them, voice muffled.

"Yeah, a sign." Phil says, a light in his voice. "That this girl is obviously not for you, and maybe, somewhere out there, someone better awaits."

"You really think so?"

"Rynan, I never _think_. I _know_."

He lifts his head up and looks at Phil considerately. "But how I can get over her? That poor thing… I said so many things to her… so many horrible things…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Phil pats Rynan's back soothingly. "How can I not when it took you three times telling it without breaking down?"

"Have I just lost my chance, Phil?"

"You may just have, poor buddy. But no need to fret, like I said, you have a whole ocean of fresh fish waiting for you." Phil consoles. "Now all you have to do is dangle the bait."

Rynan thinks he's inconsolable at the moment. No salmon or catfish can cheer him up now. Not when he just scared away the only woman that has been on his mind for Heaven knows how long. He had one chance, and he lost it.

Rynan almost chokes on his drink when he feels Joe's hand slam into his back, the force causing him to slightly jerk forward, "Hey, guys, it's my birthday… why the long faces?"

"Rynan just got turned down." Phil announces, somewhat even proudly. If Rynan had the energy, he would've been more than willing to clock him.

"Aww, poor baby." Joe positions himself between them, signaling the bartender to bring on the goods. "That is exactly what this crazy alcohol is for. Tequila everyone?"

Rynan winces and shakes his head. "I don't think I'm up for that right now."

"Bullshit!" Joe and Phil chorus loudly.

"It's _exactly_ what you need right now." Joe hands him a shot glass.

"Joe…"

"It's my birthday, Rynan. I'm calling the shots tonight. And all I am asking you to do is chug this down." Joe says. "You're lucky I'm not requesting for a lap dance." Phil and Rynan laugh as Joe winks seductively at an approaching Phi.

"No way… you corrupted the kid?"

"I'm not a kid, Phil." Phi says defiantly as he adds to their little huddle of three. "Beer for me, please." He says to the bartender. Then he turns to his friends. "You're way younger than I am."

"Yeah, but judging by experience and well, penis size, you're pretty much a six-year-old girl with pigtails."

"Ha-ha-ha!" Phi mock-laughs as the guys high-five in that crazy, rowdy hullabaloo.

"So where's your girl?"  
"She just left."

"What?" Joe shakes his head. "She's been here for barely five minutes."

"She has an early flight to New York tomorrow."

"Oh, well, life of a celebrity. What's new?"Rynan comments in the background, still contemplating on the tequila Joe forced into his hand.

"It looks like you and Rynan are not getting any tonight, then." Phil seems to be enjoying reminding them how wretched their romantic life is at the moment.

"What? What happened to you, Kid?" Phi turns to a forlorn, sulking Rynan.

"He got turned down." Joe and Phil tell him in unison.

"Aww." Phi says. "Well that makes us the two of us!" He grabs the tiny shot glass from the counter and raises it as though to make a toast. "To celibacy!"

Rynan echoes, "To celibacy!"

"Amen!" Joe raises his glass.

"Hallelujah!" Phil adds.

"Happy birthday to me!"

"Merry Christmas!"

Phi and Rynan gulp down the tequila in one, straight chug and have their faces grimacing at the sinfully strong taste.

"I don't know how you do it, Phil." Rynan grapples for the lemon dice and sucks it into his mouth.

"I'll just stick to beer." Phi pants and caresses his throat.

"You ladies are a bunch of lightweights!" Phil hits them on the shoulder. "Honey can do better than you."

"Honey?" Phi asks, eyebrows meeting. "Honey's been drinking?"

Phil points behind them and Phi spins around to see Honey, Chris and Ben doing shots, frigging tequila shots. That's not good. "I can't believe you let her loose with the alcohol."

"Oh, Phi, come on, she's a big girl. She can handle herself. At least she's man enough to do eight shots in a row."

"Eight shots in a row?" Phi exclaims. "Eight?"

"Otso."

"Walo." Rynan jumps in absentmindedly.

Phi shakes his head. "That's gonna suck once she wakes up tomorrow."

Phil lifts his glass and says, a little tipsy himself, "To Honey, who drinks oh, so bravely in the midst of all the sissies, namely Phi and Rynan, that surround her."

"To Honey!"

"To Joe, who just celebrated his twenty-eighth year in Motherland and continues to amuse us with his refusal to believe that I'm the hottest one among us."

"To Joe!"

"To Phil," This time Joe makes the toast, "who changes his girlfriends as frequently as he changes his socks, and who is not the hottest one among us, since the title already belongs to someone who rightfully deserves it, and that is, to me."

"To Phil!"

"To Rynan, who just met Mystery Girl in the flesh tonight and scared her away."

Double-take then silence. Rynan gulps nervously and dares to lift his eyes to meet two of his friends gawking at him. Great. Phil deserves a Nobel Prize.

"You met her?

"When?

"How?

"Where is she now?"

"Mystery girl turned you down?"

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Rynan covers his face and buries himself further down the chair. He'll never hear the end of this. Never.

***7***

"Thanks for the ride, man."

"You sure you don't need help with her?"

Phi looks behind him and sees Honey passed out on the backseat, murmuring gibberish here and there, eyes closed. He's thankful she hasn't thrown up on Rynan's car, which has been his fear the whole ride from the club. He has never seen her this… how do you put it… _shit-faced_ before, unable to even stand upright without off-balancing to the side, let alone walk on her own two feet, which are uneven in length to begin with. He and Rynan have tag-teamed in dragging her away from the bar, where she stubbornly pushed them away and called them names at first, as if to order them to leave her and her tequila alone in peace, and by some miracle, managed in carrying her to the car. Phi felt obligated to answer all the questioning looks people threw their way; he didn't wanna them to appear like rapists who slipped something in her drink. He would chuckle nervously and explain, "Drunken roommate." People in America do seem to understand thankfully, and ask no more.

He doesn't see her get drunk that much, and he still wonders what brought it tonight. Because it did seem like she was so intent on winning tonight's title for _Most Alcohol Consumed_. There's no drinking Phil under the table; that guy has throat and lungs of steel, but to everyone's surprise, Honey beat him tonight by a glass. By that time, Honey was so wasted that she started singing the national anthem in a slur of tangled words while Phi held and stood by her. Phil nobly congratulated her and said, "You're more of a challenge than these chicks with dicks." He motioned to Phi and Rynan, who were already too tired to get even with him. They weren't gonna argue with him any other day, anyway.

It was in the car that she laid completely unconscious, stirring ever so often whenever there's little commotion.

"No, I can manage." Phi unbuckles his seatbelt and hops off the car, opening the passenger seat door. He slowly moves inside and gently places Honey's head on his lap. "Hon, wake up. We're here."

There's an unresponsive moan coming from her, and adjusts her head even more comfortably.

"Honey…" Phi pokes her on the arm. "Honey… hey, wake up, girl."

"I don't think she's waking up anytime soon, man." Rynan says. "Just let me help you get her upstairs."

"No, no, I'll be okay." Phi doesn't wanna bother Rynan more than he's already had.

"Aight, if you say so."

After much struggling and sweating to pull Honey out of the car, Phi finally manages to get her on her feet, half her body draping over his, arm tightly wound around his neck. He bows a little so Rynan can see him through the window. "I'm sorry to hear about Mystery Girl, by the way, man."

Rynan shrugs miserably and says, "Have a good night, Phi, and give Honey my condolences for the hangover tomorrow."

"You too, and yeah, sure I will."

And with that, Rynan drives away and disappears into the night.

Honey weighs surprisingly heavy, or maybe Phi is just too tired at this point. He walks her up the stairs with some great effort, his arm wrapped around her back, his legs bearing under her weight. Thank God Phi works out. Because there's no way he could've supported the both of them and the extra heavy load weighing his head down right now, seeing as he is a little tipsy himself. Phi rummages through his pockets for the apartment key, his other hand keeping Honey from falling off into the side, whose occasional moans are the only sound present in the darkened hall.

Once the door is pulled open, Phi staggers in, his eyes meeting dark. His fingers crawl and fumble over the light switches, and once he stumbles upon the on-switch, a warm, incandescent glow spreads across the room, the couch to the right looking more tempting than Phi can resist. He dismisses the idea and instead walks them over to the hall that leads to Honey's bedroom. The door to her room is open, Phi heaves a grateful breath, because searching for the right keys can cause more fuss than what it's actually worth.

Phi kicks the door wider, feeling a little tickle at the warm breaths Honey has been fanning into his neck, and wobbles and drags her across the carpeted floor. He reaches the edge of her bed, carefully reaching over behind him to unhook her arm around his neck, when without warning Honey collapses down, her arm now around his waist pulling him down on top of her. Phi's feet trip on their own accord and are powerless to break the fall. They land on the bed ungracefully, as the spring creaks in angry protest at the impact of the unexpected plunge.

"Shit!" Phi panics and rushes to support his weight by the arms, careful not to crush Honey's sleeping form underneath him. He tries to hoist himself up when he feels an insistent arm around his back that keeps him locked where he is. He strains up a little more but it won't budge. Great. He's stuck.

Phi begins to relax and forget why he's here. He just lays there, breathes, and revels in the silence of the room, with an attractive woman sleeping under him. For the first time, Phi looks at her. He levers up himself on his arms to get a good view of her face. It looks peaceful, innocent. He doesn't know why but he finds himself staring too long at it, longer than necessary.

Stop it, Phi. Stop it _now_.

Phi loves looking at Honey's face, especially when there's hours-long faded make-up on it. It's all soft, rosy cheeks, and red, sumptuous lips. There's always that glow of inner feminine beauty that oozes so elaborately out of it. Inner feminine beauty? He sounds lame even in his own thoughts. It's not a guilty pleasure or anything in that nature, but it is not something he can openly admit. Whenever he feels like looking at her, he looks at her. Whenever he feels like touching her, he touches her. But now that he's doing it secretly, without her knowledge, it feels somewhat…_intrusive _and wrong. Phi doesn't appreciate secrets. He wants the truth where he can see it. That's why it's so easy to be with Honey, because everything about her is genuine, accepting, free of malice, sweeter than her name. So whenever Phi wants to caress her, he caresses her without any reserve. She's not even complaining anyway. That's how simple things are between them, easier.

Then his eyes fall on her mouth. Phi finds it cute. It's almost heart-shaped, ready to pout at him anytime. He finds that cute, too. She slightly stirs underneath him, shaking his senses awake, and like a kid caught stealing the last cookie before dinner, Phi scrambles off of her, only to be pulled back down by the arm that he almost forgot was there.

"Don't leave me, Phi…" She moans.

Phi looks curiously down on her and despite the uncertainty that she is even awake to hear it, says, "I won't. I'm right here."

"Don't leave me…" She mumbles, holding him even tighter.

"You're sleep-talking, Honey." He reveals to her.

Every inch of his body aches for a quick shower and a long, seven-hour sleep, but if Honey doesn't quit this now, he's not gonna have any of that any moment soon. Now if he can dislodge himself from her tight hold…

"I want you, Phi…"

Long pause.

Long, awkward pause.

Phi stares down at her closely and listens.

"I want you…" She continues to talk; awake or not, she is saying things, audible things that are confusing Phi out of his wits right now, "Don't leave me, 'cuz I need you… I… I want you… please don't leave me…"

_What are you talking about, dude?_

"I'm here." This time he knows she hears him.

Phi finally feels her arm gradually losing its tension on his back, and then falling limply on her side. She's sound asleep. For real this time. He raises himself up and falls on the other side of the bed, right next to her. He places one hand under his head, the other lying close to Honey's own. For ten good minutes, he just lies there, staring blankly at the ceiling, lost.

She rouses again, turning on her side so that she's facing Phi. Her skirt is drawn up her leg so high that Phi can't help but notice. He'd recognize those lavish legs anywhere, but like he said, it sparks a feeling of guilt looking at them in this angle, when the light is dim and when she's not awake to witness him gazing at them.

Naughty, naughty Phi.

Naughty, naughty Phi whose beautiful girlfriend is alone in her hotel room right now.

With that thought, he jolts himself up, innocently draws her skirt lower to cover some of that hazel-nut skin, and hops off the bed altogether. He goes around and unties the disorienting ropes on her gladiator sandals, and with one hand gripping her ankle, the other on the tip of the sandals, slides them off in one swift movement. He then stands alongside hers and pulls up the covers to tuck her in. "Goodnight, Honey. Sleep well."

Phi walks over to the door and lingering there for a while, switches the light off with a little bit of trepidation. Whatever cryptic message Honey just said, he'll figure it out soon.

Tonight he just doesn't wanna think about it.


	4. Chapter 4

"Do I look like a librarian to you?"

"Can I be perfectly honest?"

Hayge bits her inner lip and says, "Yes."

"You look a girl who just got dumped by her boyfriend."

"Do I?"

"Yes." Casey answers, pouring the bucketful of fish over the sea of penguins waiting impatiently for their breakfast. "…which is kind of questionable in itself since you don't have a boyfriend to begin with."

"You're side-tracking me here. Do I look like a librarian to you or not?"

He straightens himself up from being bent over, and studies her thoroughly through silver blue eyes that run deep. "You remind me of Mrs. Kelley."

Hayge's eyebrows meet in mild curiosity. "Who's Mrs. Kelley?"

"You don't remember her?" asks Casey, whose voice, no matter how small, echoes around the simulated aquarium of manmade caverns and miniature hills of icebergs where a small crowd of penguins are huddled around. Hayge loves hanging in this place for at least twice a month on the weekends, not only does she get to visit an old friend, but she also gets to be in touch with nature, penguin life, to be specific. Before the zoo opens for tourists and locals alike to flock, Casey, the keeper, better be sure to call Hayge to come over and treat her to a pre-show tour around or she'll chop him in pieces. Now they've just finished going around, or 'circumnavigating' as Casey likes to put it, and he's busy putting the final touches to the little replicated scenery of the penguin's natural habitat as she sits by the edge of the ice, dangling her feet off to make little splashes on the cold water below.

"Mrs. Kelley, you know, grade school terror, tall, long dark hair with those half-moon spectacles that we never saw her without? Please don't tell me you forgot about her."

"Was she a librarian?"

"She was the school dentist."

Hayge winces and shakes her head. "I look like a school dentist? That's even worse than a librarian."

"No, not just any ordinary school dentist. You have an uncanny resemblance with Mrs. Kelley." He announces with unmistakable certainty.

"So you're trying to tell me I look like someone that the kids might be afraid of?" She demands.

"No, but you do project that bitter spinster vibe, you know." He explains casually.

She grins widely, so widely it leaks with sarcasm. "Gee, you're sweet."

"What's with all the questions anyway? Do I look like a librarian? Do I look like a school dentist? Do I look like this? Do I look like that?" Casey whines, "Have years of working on your boring job finally gone to your head?"

_No, because someone whom I met last night, someone whom I have mistakenly wronged for a sane, decent guy, someone who actually turned out to be a pervert, suggested that he saw me as a librarian, and ergo, a bitter spinster with the "bitter spinster vibe." _

Hayge wants to get some of that off her chest, vent some of her frustrations that sparked from last night, but instead she asks, "Am I gonna end up alone, Casey?"

"Noooo…" He stresses, putting an elaborate trail to the word. She looks up at him as he drops down his cleaning equipment and sits next to her, wrapping a comforting arm around her. "Hayge, you're too young to be thinking that way."

"But what if I'll be thirty-five and still alone; will I still be too young then to be thinking this way?"

"I'm sure by thirty-five you will already have found the right man for you." He says, sending soothing words into Hayge's , ears. "You just haven't found him yet because there's too much to think about now, your career, your independent life, your cozy little apartment."

"What if it's not about that?" Hayge hates the desperation in her voice. "What if it's me that is so hard for men to fall in love with, or even stay in love with?" Hayge closes her eyes, knowing she's touched a particularly sensitive subject.

"Oh, sweetie…" Casey understands, hugging her closer to him. "That man was a fool to let you go."

"I really don't wanna talk about it."

"Yeah, let's not talk about him. He's is sooooo in the past." He puts a little bubbliness in his tone, his effort to lighten the mood evident. "Let's talk about the present, the romance crisis you seem to think you're going through."

Hayge takes a deep breath and forces the nasty feeling away. "I was just wondering what's in me that decent guys find so hard to get past. Why do I always get flirted on by jerks at a club?"

"You don't even go to clubs, how would you know?"

"Maybe I'm one of those women who are doomed to have a single status on their bio data for the rest of their lives."  
"Shut up, that's not true." He says. "You know why men hesitate to put the moves on you?"

"No, I don't. And please, do tell."

"It's because you're smart."

"Huh?"

"They feel intimated by you, so they tend to shy away, because the more they squeeze themselves in, the more they feel low about themselves."

"You really think that's why?" Hayge has never pictured her intelligence to be hindrance to the welfare of her social life.

"Yeah, you're this closed-off individual who seems uninterested in the whole flashy Hollywood-ish dating scene, so that kind of spoils the possibility for these guys of having a shot at you."

"So you're saying I'm… closed-off? Is that even supposed to be a good thing?"

Casey is a good friend. He should know the answer.

"I'm not saying it is."

"Then, what? If it's a bad thing, what do I do?"

Casey looks like he's pondering on a deep thought and after a moment or two, turns to Hayge with a loose smile. "Loosen up a little bit, Hayge. Learn to flirt with people, laugh boisterously when you find something funny, show a little bit of skin."

"Why, what's wrong with my get-up?"

He laughs and gestures up and down her form. "To be honest, you look like a nun."

"Do you think I should start going to the gym and work on my abs?" She jokes.

Then a look of enlightenment etches across his face. "That's actually not a bad idea."

"Oh, please, Casey. I haven't been to an actual gym since that time my mom flirted with that young sexy instructor."

"No. You're right." Casey scrambles up and pulls her with him. He starts to study her profile, pinching her arms and looking around to check her rear end. "You gotta work on your posture, too."

With a bewildered look, she lets out a confused laugh. "I was just kidding. Hell no am I gonna subject myself to those expensive mechanical trainings. Work is exhausting enough as it is."

"Well I'm not kidding, Hayge." Casey looks into her with serious eyes. "I know a guy who's been on the job for years, and if you want I can give him a call for you."

Hayge purses her lips and considers the idea. Maybe it wouldn't hurt if she lost a couple of pounds here and there, and maybe, like Casey said more than a bit enthusiastically, improved her posture to give herself more length. She'd simply squeeze a little time in her evenings for the trainings after the nine-to-five work is done.

"Yeah, you know what? Why not?"

"So it's settled then? Is Hayge gonna come out of her shell and face the harsh, sweaty world of fitness management now?"

Arms crossed, she rolls her eyes. "Yes, yes, she is."

"You are not gonna regret this, this instructor is one fine dude, unattached." He teases.

"Oh, is that so?" She plays along with him with a flirtatious smile.  
"Yeah, and he's Asian, maybe you two can catch up with your long-forgotten racial heritage."

Hayge bites her lips seductively and says with a sultry voice, "Trust me, honey, we are _not_ gonna be talking about Asia's history when his hand is already up my skirt."

Casey bursts out laughing and knocks her over to the side. "You are such a bad girl, Hayge."

With a wink, she says, "Oh, Casey, you have no idea just how bad I can get."

To hell with Cutie McHottie and his extremely distasteful atrocity, he is _so_ history in Hayge's book now.

To hell with him and his unforgivably moronic 'librarian' comment, too.

***2***

Honey opens her eyes and feels like the world is spinning. Everything around her seems to be moving in dizzying, blurred patterns, punishing what little bit of consciousness she has. She opens them a little bit more, trying to soothe the strong pounding in her head that she suspected was what woke her up in the first place. Honey wishes she was still asleep. Asleep forever and ever and ever. Because if this was the kind of feeling that she'd wake up to after a long, forgotten night, then hell, comatose sounded a much, much more tempting option.

She feels like there's a hole in her head, oh, scratch that, _holes_ in her head, and at every hole, there lies a wiggling, hammering tiny little stubborn insect at the bottom, giving her a nasty urge to throw up all over the sheets. Her head continues to pound away like a kid on Christmas, relentless, mulish, defiant, accompanied by that nauseating lurch in her stomach twisting 'round and 'round in endless circles. She can do nothing to relieve the pain but shut her eyes again and concentrate on driving the harmless but intolerably sickening feeling away. She must be having what they call a hangover.

That heavy price people have to pay after a night of alcoholic bliss. Maybe it's a reminder from God. A reminder that says while liquor may help you forget your problems for a given time, abusing it can be a vicious little bitch in the morning after. And God is reminding her now, and by Golly it's working. Honey doesn't think she can ever dare drinking a glass anymore.

Honey peeks through one eye and grimaces at the excruciating sunlight piercing its way through the jalousie-d windows. It's not helping with the throbbing in her head at all. She wants to melt right there against the sheets and disappear away into oblivion forever. Because one way or another, she has to be ridden of this hellish sensation in her.

Her stomach starts to growl. She's barely even awake and the hungry little monster inside her tummy is already complaining. She swings her head from side to side, hoping that'll bring some sense of relief, and feels the earth start to slow down. Thank God.

Sluggishly, she drags herself out of bed and goes directly for the kitchen. She is not what you call a morning person, so Phi, on normal days, fixes their breakfast.

Phi is already busy in the kitchen, and laughs when he sees her wobbling over to the island in a clumsy uncoordinated swagger. "Good morning!" Phi is always chipper in the morning.

"Phi… No shouting… Please…" She begs him, her voice still raspy from the sleep.

"Welcome to the drunken world of intoxication, my love." He hands her a glass of brewed coffee, which she sniffs every single morning to start her day. She's irritable and hard to talk to when she wakes up from a long night, and the only way to soothe her is the calming whiff of fresh, brewed coffee straight from her granny's farm back in Mexico. Phi makes sure he has a mug prepared before she gets up; it's been an everyday agreement, and he never misses. What an efficient guy. "How are you feeling?"

"To put it bluntly? I feel like shit." Honey breathes over it, unable to help the moan that comes when a wave of calming sensation sips into her brain and eases the pain away. She doesn't drink it, though. All she's after is the spiraling smoke coming out of it.

"That's how it normally is. Feel better?"

"So much better."

"Hangover can be a bitch, can't it?" Phi asks, sipping from his own mug.

"I'll never drink again." Honey promises.

"You're just saying that." He says, chuckling a little. "Sooner or later, you'll be hogging the tequila truck again."

"mmm…" she ignores the comment and continues to let her nose hover above the mug of coffee with closed eyes, feeling better and better by the second. Waking up to a hangover is one thing. But waking up to a hangover, and a chipper Phi and a cup of this heavenly drink is another. Honey is not willing to say it out loud, but she gets the feeling sometimes that knowing Phi is one of life's few blessings; especially on days when he is the only one there when no one else isn't, on days like this – nursing a throbbing head and an upset stomach on an early morning. This is how she would describe hell on earth, but how can it be hell when a freshly-showered Phi in a comfortable-looking while tee shirt is right there in the midst of all the evil, taking care of her? Truly _magni-phi-cent_.

She opens her eyes and finds Phi staring at her. He looks away quickly with a nervous face and escapes to the counter.

She hasn't realized till then that she's still wearing the white dress she wore to the party last night.

"How did I get so drunk anyway?" Honey asks, eyes lighting up when Phi sets a plate of omelet in front of her.

"I don't know, because uh, let's see… you tried to break Phil's drinking record?" He chuckles.

"I did?" She asks with a full mouth, somewhat incredulous. "Oh, Phi, this is really good." She motions to the food. She's a professional cook, but she prefers Phi's burnt omelets to any fancy cuisine known to mankind.

"Yes, you did. And no, that's not good, 'coz I left it in the pan for too long." He says, taking another sip, "Anyway, you two got into a little competition. Everybody was cheering for you and you actually won. Who gives a crap to Phil when a pretty lady is kicking his ass?"

"Aww…" Now why doesn't Honey remember any of that? She tries to delve into her pea of a brain for any memory at the party last night after the little scenario with her and Phi at the dance floor, but won't come up with anything.

"You don't remember, do you?"

She shakes her head. Suddenly there comes a shade of cloud on Phi's face, which is tensing her up a little bit.

"You don't remember anything from last night? Anything at all?"

Where's he going with this? "No. You tell me what happened."

Phi blushes, for some unknown reason. "Oh, um…" he clears his throat, "you ended up so drunk, Rynan and I had to haul you out of the bar, where you said, and I quote 'go to hell!'"

"Oh, my God. Did I throw up on any of you two?"

"No, thankfully, that didn't happen." Phi looks amused. "You did vomit on Joe's pants, though."

"Eww. That poor guy." She grimaces and drives the plate of food away from her face. "Remind me to send him flowers today."

Phi laughs and quips, "I think you should apologize to him personally."

"It must have been so embarrassing."

"You haven't heard enough." Phi has a naughty look on his face. "And the rockets red glare… the bombs bursting in air. Ring a bell?"

Her eyes go wide, scared of what she might've done this time. "No."

"You stole the DJ's mic and asked everyone to sing the national anthem with you."

"Oh, crap! I freaking did that?"  
"And ooh, you sort of French-kissed Ben at one point." Phi's lips form into a curt curve.

Honey feels a nasty tremor in her middle. "Screw that. There's no way, no way Jose that I did that."

"Oh, but you did. You both seemed to like it even." He says, seemingly eager to move on to another subject. "You gave Phil a lap dance after your little victory, right before you climbed up the stage and kicked the DJ to the side."

"I… gave… Phil… what?" Her face goes pale, horror-stricken to say the least. Honey is a composed woman who doesn't like the limelight on her, but last night, if all horrific things Phi's telling her were true, she went overboard and broke every possible rule she's made for herself. Alcohol can make you do a lot of things. "What else did I do?" Bravely, she asks.

"You started calling me names." He says quietly.

"What names?"

"There were a lot. But uh, I do remember one. You called me 'Froo-froo'."

"Froo-froo?"

"Yeah." Honey can't decode the red tint on Phi's face.

"What else did I do?"

"Uh…" He gives her an evasive glance, hesitant. She knows there's something he's not revealing to her. "Never mind, it's not important. You better finish your food, it's almost eight."

Absentmindedly Honey glances over to the wall clock behind her and sighs. She almost forgot about her weekend duties at her mom's dog store. For a fleeting second, she wonders if she can use her hangover as an excuse for passing up work today.

"I'll be crashing the gym today; you want a ride on the way?" Phi courteously asks when he can see the look of dismay on her face.

"Sure." She answers with a small voice.

"Hey, Catalina…"Honey's eyes snap up from her plate and shoot directly at him in bewilderment. He's called her that name only twice before. The first time was when he broke their radiator which was some two years ago, and the second was when he confessed to her that he was in love with a Hollywood star. Wonder what he did this time.

"What is it?"

He opens his mouth with a considerate amount of effort, seemingly struggling to get the words out, and after a few failed attempts at speaking, he closes it again. Honey can sense the strong need for him to pour out whatever needs to be poured out, but there appears to be a strong invisible force holding him back. Must it have anything to do with last night? OMG, Catalina, what have you done? "Uh… Never mind."

Honey shrugs, pretending she can't care any less, and continues to chew on her food. Instead she forces herself to think whatever it is, it must not have been that important.

The knot in her stomach, though, tells her otherwise.

***3***

The address that Casey gave her makes Hayge believe yet again in her literature professor's favorite quote, "It's a small world we're living in." It's a small world, indeed, so small that it won't be a wonder anymore if she runs into Chewbacca on her way to work. The unnamed fitness instructor with whom her bestfriend, as much as Hayge denied the favor, arranged an appointment for her, is stationed at the tenth floor of the building right across hers, the tenth floor being the gym where he works at. It _is_ a small world and coincidences are just right around the corner.

She stares nervously at her feet as the elevator takes her and a small crowd of people up. Wearing a pair of snug-fitting sweatpants, and a sweatshirt that seems to accent her chest area more than necessary doesn't really make a woman of her type feel comfortable in her own skin. In fact, she'd never felt so self-conscious in her life. Geez. Geeky, much? She can just imagine that mocking face her sisters would be making if they ever see her groomed this way; she'd never hear the end of it.

The elevator hits her floor and she steps out awkwardly, covering her face by her thick blanket of black hair. She's met by a wide white room that narrows into a hallway in the middle. She carefully walks through that, adjusting the strap of her gym bag on her shoulder, peers through the first room that recesses along the pathway. The door is open but it looks like it's not being used. She walks a few feet forward before she halts at a room with glass walls and a glass door. Judging by the boys and girls working on their musical instruments, violins, cellos, guitars, flutes, clarinets, even triangles, and a middle-aged woman with those stick thingies they use in an orchestra, conducting before them, she can tell that it's the music room. She pushes through with her search and stands before a room almost identical to the previous one, almost every part of which is made of glass; except the floor. The floor is a spotless, slippery square of fine wood. She walks forward to have a closer look. It's a dance studio. There are at least thirty teenage kids in there, stretching and strutting in their dancing shoes. In front of them is a wall-sized mirror, and to the right is a wall-sized window overlooking her own building. Huh. She can practically see her own desk from where she's standing now. How cute is that.

Then she remembers her real purpose here, which is to meet up with a faceless and anonymous guy whose name and face Casey refused so stubbornly to divulge to her for some kinky reason. Hayge, at first, insisted for his objective profile, but her friend was one hard case. All he told her was that this Asian guy is a stud and a pantydropper and to look for him using those descriptions. She ignored him; gay people tend to exaggerate.

Hayge, without thought, turns around and bam.

She can feel her skull shaking violently as she comes colliding, head-to-head, literally, with another body. She jerks backward and massages the sore spot on her forehead, and lifts her eyes to look at the mean person who's about to suffer an earful of reprimand from her. Her vision fiddles into focus and her jaw drops at the sight before her.

Damn it, it's the perverse guy from the club last night.

It's Cutie McHot—no, he's no longer that anymore. What the hell is he doing here? And what's with the bewildered look on his face? Hayge feels a tiny kick in her stomach as he stares openmouthed at her. Shit. He looks fine. He's an asshole, but he looks fine.

"Are you following me?" She asks with a harsh tongue.

"Excuse me?" He sounds affronted. God he looks even sexier when he's mad. "Do I even know you?"

"I was… I…" She can't figure out whether to be insulted or relieved. One the one hand, this guy doesn't remember coming in contact with her at all, which is a good thing since she knows she's not swimming amongst the filth and the dirt in that sick, rotten brain.

On the other, well… he has no memory of her, no memory that he had, no matter how short and ill-fated, a conversation with her. And that in itself is sad.

"I…" Hayge continues to stutter, as if waiting for him to wake up and recognize her face. She hates herself for caring so much whether he remembers her or not – this guy is an ass. "Just watch where you're going next time."

"No. _You_ watch where you're going." He demands, his words coming out in quick spurts before turning and leaving her gawking at his back. This guy has no feelings at all.

How unfair is it that one sinful man can sleep at night with a clean conscience merely because of poor memory when others are repenting and punishing themselves for the sins that are heavy enough for them to remember day after day after day? Hayge is the _others _in there_._ She is officially erasing Cutie McHottie, aka the jerk who's got her appalled twice already, from her life.

She ignores the feeling of disappointment nagging her to tears, and strides over to a room with the label, "Get Fit! Get Right!" Maybe this is it. It's not hard to tell it's the fitness section – with all the treadmills, dumbbells, and all sorts of weight-assisting self-help machine doodads scattered neatly around the room, she's not adequately informed about these things. Hayge sees a lot of people, both men and women, already sweating their tummies off as she tries to walk as unobtrusively as she can, looking around at the same time for 'an Asian stud' and a 'pantydropper.' There is one at the back of the room assisting a woman in her forties to get on a methodically complicated exercise machine that seems to hang a person up-side-down. Whoa.

Double whoa, because she recognizes the guy. It's… it's… _Droopy Snoopy_. What the hell has happened to her life? It appears as though everywhere she turns she sees one or two of the seven people in that basketball courtside she's gotten so familiar with for months now, albeit from afar. Is this some sort of conspiracy? Is she being punked? Will she get to meet Ashton Kutcher?

What a small, no… _infinitesimal_ Sacramento.

Hesitantly, she approaches him with a kind smile. But deep inside that kind smile is a clueless mind that asks "How am I gonna go around this?"

"Hello." She says quietly to catch his attention.

Droopy Snoopy turns in her direction and smiles kindheartedly. "Well, hello, there. What can I help you with?" Damn, his voice is so deep.

"Um…" Then her mind goes blank. "I'm looking for someone."

"O…kay…" He slowly replies, sounding amused. "Is he one of the staff here?"

"Yeah, actually, he is. And… uh…" Gosh, this would've been so much easier if Hayge went out and socialized more often. "Look, I know that this is totally inappropriate, but a friend of mine… um, arranged an appointment with one of trainers here on my behalf, and… he hardheadedly missed to give me any concrete information about him, but he did say that this guy was um… Oh, God, this is so stupid… he said this guy was an 'Asian stud'… and uh…" Hayge takes a deep, shameful breath.

Droopy Snoopy looks like he's holding his breath while listening to her relate the story. "A what?"

"A pantydropper."

It takes a moment for him to understand. Then a small, shy laugh escapes his throat.

"I was wondering if you were that guy." She spits out quickly.

He folds his arms, his well-endowed, ripped arms, over his chest and tilts his head endearingly. "Is your friend, by any chance, Casey James?"

"Yes, yes, that gay hottie with the long hair. That's him." Hayge gestures frantically.

"Then yes, I am…" he bites his lip bashfully, "…the Asian stud."

"And the pantydropper." She adds without thinking.

"If you say so." The smile on his lips remains polite.

"My name is Haygelene Jimenez." Hayge extends a hand. "But you can call me Hayge."

"The nerdy girl with the psychedelic glasses, hi." He takes and shakes it genteelly. "My name is Ben… Ben Chung."

"Hi, Ben." She withdraws from the handshake and smiles knowingly. Ben suits him and his cool aura perfectly. "Psychedelic glasses, huh? Lemme guess, Casey?"

"I guess I'm not the only victim of his sassy descriptions."

"Cool." Hayge says and they both laugh. It's clear that they both happen to be familiar with Casey and his venom.

"So how do you wanna do this?" Ben asks, sounding all business-like all of a sudden.

"Um, I'm thinking I could drop by here at five-thirty on the weekdays, three on the weekends and we can go at it for two hours." Hayge says. "What do you think?"

"I think that sounds good if you're trying to pull a muscle and kill yourself."

"What do you mean?"

Ben looks behind and asks the woman a polite permission to leave. Then he leads them both to the corner by the wall-sized window overlooking the city and the busy street below. "Look, you gotta be gentle with your body, Hayge. This is your first time undergoing a professional workout training, am I correct?"

"In high school I dabbled a little bit on sports, but other than that, yes, this is a first. How did you know?"

"It's part of my job to know." He says. "Anyway, that practically makes you a virgin. You see, most customers come here three times at week at most, and believe me, they get all the results that their body needs." Ben gives her a once-over that makes Hayge blush a little. "And from what I can see, yours doesn't really need all that much."

"Really? Is that a compliment?" Hayge asks with an innocently casual tone that makes Ben chuckle.

"All I am saying is don't put too much pressure on your body. Three times a week will do the trick. Lemme see?" He comes around her, examining every inch of muscle and flab present in her five-feet-seven built. "What particular part do you wish to work on?"

Hayge would normally feel awkward sharing her insecurities with another person, but with this guy? It seems easier somehow. "I wanna work on my tummy, it has some excess that don't need to be there. Also… um, I wanna…"

"You wanna…?"

"I wanna add a little bit of attitude to my butt area."

Ben looks like he's holding back a laugh. "I have exercises that are perfect for buttocks-enhancement."

"Good." She clips her mouth shyly.

"So, shall we begin?"

Hayge places her gym bag down on one safe corner as Ben gathers the equipment that they will be needing. After pulling her hair up into a tight bun, she turns around to catch Ben throwing a tickled smile her way. She can't figure out whether to acknowledge or respond to that in any way, instead, she blushes and stares at her feet. She doesn't really know how handle to situations like this, she hasn't got the guts to flirt. Casey has more vagina lips than she does.

"Before we start with our warm-up, though, let me ask you one thing." Ben asks, motioning her to lie down on the carpeted floor beside him.

Hayge carefully sits down on that spot, so that he's facing her side. "Sure."

"Why did you assume that I was the guy Casey was referring to in that childish depiction? Is it because I'm Asian, or is it because you saw me as the other thing?" prodigy

She finds the amused six-year-old grin on Ben's face delectably charming. "I can't tell you that." She answers coyly, one eyebrow raised. How's that for flirting?

He laughs, a deep, booming cacophony of well-modulated specks of sound that Hayge has learned to like immediately. "Alright, if you say so, Hayge."

Hayge finds this moment incredibly liberating. She's already met Dimple Head, Cutie McHottie, which she now wishes she hasn't, and now she's about to commit into spending three of her week's afternoons with Droopy Snoopy, the Korean-looking guy who sucks at basketball but not at making a good impression. Well, at least this one turns out to be perfectly nice. If only Cutie McHottie was as upright.

If only.

***4***

"I already told you, Mom, the answer is no."

"But look at her, Catalina, she is yearning for a mother's love."

"Mom, no." Honey warns for what feels like the twenty-seventh time that afternoon. "Looking after a puppy is equivalent to looking after a human baby. And I won't subject myself to any of that."

"But the munchkin will behave herself, won't she? Won't you, baby?" Mrs. Perez makes smooching sounds and gibberish noises that the baby chaw-chaw is paying close attention to with round, glossy eyes.

She's a new arrival straight from China, and her mom refuses on selling the dog for other strangers' benefit and insists on her keeping it, because she singles this pup out, among her million other dogs, as special. Honey does feel that need to grit her teeth every time she takes a look at the adorable piece of toy, but it won't be so adorable anymore if it's making a whole lot of dog mess on the couch, or Phi's bed, or even her bed, which is usually a dog's favorite pastime. Her mom is a tough high-school-days zit to get rid of, though. Wait, did she just compare her mom to a bacterial pore infection?

"Look, if you want it so bad, why don't you keep it?"

"I told you, Marcos is allergic to dog fur." Marcos is her mom's thirty-year-old boyfriend. "You know how I keep Kelso, Marie, Michelangelo, and Stephen down at the basement 'till seven in the evening."

"Yeah, what an animal-loving move you're pulling off over there, by the way, Mom." Honey chides sarcastically, organizing the boxes of dog food according to date of delivery.

"With you, at least I know that the little poochie's gonna get all the love that she deserves."

"Well, she won't. Because I ain't keeping her, and I'm sure Phi is against it, too. He's more paranoid than I am. And having a dog lying around in an apartment without a leash is… it's not ideal. For all I know, it's probably even gonna cause infestation, or something."

"Oh, Honey, look at her." Mrs. Perez persistently points at the animal, accompanied that pleading look. "Look at the little beauty. Do you really think something as tiny and precious as this can cause an infestation? Listen to yourself, Catalina. I don't like this little monster you're turning into."

"Precisely. I am a monster and leaving a poor, defenseless creature under my supervision would be a risky move." Honey states determinedly. "I wouldn't do it if I were you."

Her short, stout mother huffs miserably in defeat and picks up the little puppy, patting her back. "Catalina will come around, sweetheart, I know it. She's got the dog-love in her heart, just like her mother."

Honey shakes her head with an amused eyeroll. "Well, don't hold your breath 'till that time comes."

The bell on the door rings and a young woman in a yellow coat goes in with a pleasant smile. "I'd like to buy a dog."

Honey spends the rest of the day tending to customers, showing them around the shop in that salesperson bearing, providing them information about all the dogs that they have in store. Some customers have a pre-determined choice of breed, while others wanna be surprised on the spot. She finds a lot of them end up picking up baby Golden Retrievers, German Shepherds, Dachshunds, Chihuahuas, St. Bernard's, and a lot others from their selection, but not the Chaw-Chaw. The little pup tends to bark and react violently once a customer comes to pet her. Nobody really wants to look after a vicious little shark, do they? Unless, of course, they want to scare away the little kid next door who keeps stealing from their backyard. One old lady scurries away when the pup threatened to bite her fingers off.

Their average sale can sum up to as much as seven dogs a day, not forgetting the dog food and training gadgets that seem to fly off the shelves under their noses. Her mother has made good money out of this small-time business, and raised her and her two sisters on it. Her proud Mexican father, who was the most passionately devoted dog-lover Honey has ever known, used to be the only hands-on member on their family, but ever since his death thirteen years ago, her mother and her two sisters have decided to take over the business. It isn't as big as it was years ago, but it's still on operation, and that's what matters. Despite Honey's more-than-enough salary from working at the restaurant, she still comes here every weekend and pays her services to what her father has started. She owes him at least that much.

"We have an effective solution for lice problems. Mom used it on her Terrier when there was a louse breakout two months ago and it worked wonders, Mrs. Gibbs. All those nasty little bugs were washed away in a jiffy, leaving the precious puppy fresh, and clean, and good as new." Honey uses her saleslady voice, all smiles and engaging, handing a troubled, old woman a bottle of _Shellguard_ shampoo.

"I'll take three of this."

"Okay."

Honey's computing the items on the cash register when a ding-ding-ding on the door makes her lift her eyes. Whoa. He's early.

"What are you doing here so early?" She asks, pretending to sound indifferent. Deep in her heart, she's singing a happy tune.

"Your mom called and told to come by." Phi prances across the room, standing by the counter next to her. "She says you got something to tell me and that it's urgent."

"Huh?"

"Hello, Phi, darling." Mrs. Perez emerges from the back with her vicariously open arms and cages Phi in them, more tightly than needed. He hugs back just as enthusiastically, with a cheerful "Good to see you again, Mrs. Perez." He grins sheepishly as Honey's mom showers him with kisses. She tends to get too touchy-feely with him, too touchy-feely that Honey sometimes can't help but twitch.

"Oooh, you look like you've been working out." Mrs. Perez gushes, stroking his biceps.

"Just a little." He modestly answers.

"I've always had a thing for buff men back in the day. That's what got me and Honey's father fooling around in the barn." She giggles as her eyelashes bat at him. Honey thinks she might sprain something. "I remember it being the day Juliana was conceived."

"Mom, I really don't think he has to hear how my sister was made." She scolds her, doing a polite bow to the customer who turns and walks away.

"There's nothing wrong with sharing a little slice of the past, my darling." Mrs. Perez says, her Mexican accent suddenly thickened. Then she turns to a Phi who looks like he's struggling to keep a straight face, "As I was saying, Phi…"

"Mom, mom. I think I'll take it from here." She gently pushes her aside and slides her hands inside her apron pockets. "What urgent thing were you talking about?"

Phi turns to Mrs. Perez's direction. "You told me your daughter had something to say to me."

She clears her throat nervously as Honey glares at her with narrowed eyes. "You see, Catalina here wants to take a baby Chaw-Chaw home, but I told her to consult with you first."

Honey gasps in shock and frantically shakes her head at Phi. "No, no, that's not true. Phi, don't listen to her. She's lying."

"It's okay, love, you don't have to hide it." Her mother puts on a concerned look that anyone would buy if they didn't know her any better. But Honey knows her better. Juanita Perez is evil and scheming, and hell, she can turn a story around like no other.

But there's no point in changing the permanent, instead Honey turns to Phi. "I don't want the puppy, but she insists that I keep it." She explains hysterically. "I told her keeping a dog in an apartment will be messy and will require a lot of attention. We'll be muddled with dog poop everywhere. And I know how much you'll hate that. Plus, this puppy hates being held. I told her a million of times and she wouldn't listen."

Phi's expression is blank, vague. Honey can't read it.

"Phi, you believe me, right?"

"Can I see the dog?" He asks Mrs. Perez.

"Oh, I'll show you." Her face lights up like a Christmas tree and she takes Phi by the hand and tags him along to the back with her, where they all keep their dogs caged.

"Mom, you're gonna go to hell for this, you know that, right?" Honey calls after them. She wishes she can follow and persuade Phi out of deciding to keep the dog, but she knows it's too late. Only she has the heart to say no to her mom. A few minutes after, Phi comes out with a furry, mellow Chaw-Chaw in his arms, a happy, pleased Mrs. Perez in tow. Honey cannot be shocked any less.

"I do remember you saying she doesn't like being held." Phi says in a mocking tone. "On the contrary, she does love it and I think she just found her new daddy."

"Oh, hell, no." Honey places her hands on her hips, claiming superiority. "You are _not _taking that thing home with us."

"Excuse me?" Phi says defiantly, hugging the puppy closer to him. "How dare you talk to my baby like that? She has feelings, and by the way, she's a 'she', not an 'it'."

"You can't be serious. That dog is gonna make more mess than my senile eighty-year-old grandfather. And who's gonna be picking up the shit? You? Mister I-can't-stand-the-spaghetti-stain-on-the-couch?"

"Will you keep your voice down? I think she's taking a nap."

"Jesus, Phi. Listen to me." Honey stands face-to-face with him. "They eat, they poop, they cry, they bite and chew everything in the house that they can bury their teeth in, and they poop some more. Do you really think you and I are cut out for that?"

"Gee, you sound like a seventeen-year-old kid who just found out he's gonna be a father."

"Yes, and you're the seventeen-year-old mother who lives in this ideal world and thinks everything's gonna be alright when they're not. This is a huge commitment you're about to make here, and before you know it, we'll be falling in love with it, and we can't give it up anymore because it's gonna be too late by then."

"Honey, it's just a dog."

"But you just called it your baby."

"It's a dog, and it's gonna be _my_ dog."

"Phi…" She warns.

"Look at her, Honey." This time Phi sounds serious, voice gone all tender and motherly. "You can't possibly find anything more beautiful than this in the face of the earth." He whispers like a mother who's afraid to awaken a sleeping baby.

Honey knows it's a sign of weakness to give in to the maternal urge inside her that she has been trying to suppress since Mrs. Perez showed her the little puppy that morning. But she's never been a woman of strength anyway. This dog is precious.

"Please keep me, Mommy. I promise I'm not gonna give you and Daddy a hard time." Phi does a funny puppy voice, cajoling Honey into surrendering. When she looks up, he's putting on a face with that Phi puppy pout and round, glossy eyes that Honey hasn't been known to resist.

"Please?"

Honey knows she's already lost. She heaves a big sigh. "Screw it."

"Yes!" Phi cheers and surprises Honey with a sloppy, wet kiss on the cheek. "I knew Mommy would come around. She just couldn't resist your charms, could she? No, she couldn't, no, she couldn't." Honey fights the urge to laugh out loud at the faces and voices Phi's making.

Also fights the urge to tell him that it's not the dog's charms that she can't resist.

It's _his._

***5***

Hayge puts the speaker even closer to her ears, trying to concentrate.

"What was the emergency all about?"

"I'm gonna be a dad."

"Tara's pregnant?"

Neighbor Guy scoffs and shakes his head at a baffled Ben. "No, Honey and I are getting a dog."

"Oh." Ben rubs down his chest. "Dude, don't scare me like that."

"She's a Chaw-Chaw and I'm telling you, dude, she's adorable." Neighbor Guy gushes happily.

"Why, I am happy for you, man."

Hayge can hardly pay attention to her sister's voice over the phone when she's here listening in on other's people's conversation. She has to ask ever so often, "What? I can't hear you. Come again?" Because this isn't her first moment, nor second, nor third, nor even fourth, to establish that frightening fact it is indeed a small world. Neighbor Guy stopped by the gym and looked like he was getting some workout done himself. He's all bubbly and hyperactive, and crowing about a dog. If only her sister Elizabeth would tell her what's up already so that she and he can be properly introduced. Liz sounds like she's crying.

"Liz, I need you to calm down so I can hear you."

"I don't wanna talk about this over the phone. I need to see you in person." Elizabeth says, sniffing back her tears. "Where are you?

"I'm…" She hesitates, "I'm at the gym. Where are you?"

"I'm right here in your apartment building waiting for you to come home."

"What?" Hayge exclaims.

"Hayge, please, see me now. I need to talk to you."

"Are you ok?"

"Just see me."

Hayge feels a wave of anxiety as the end of other line goes dead. She wonders what kind of trouble her sister has gotten herself into this time. She snaps her phone shut and walks over to Ben and, as hard as it is for her to believe, Neighbor Guy. They're still animatedly talking and gesturing when Ben notices her coming.

"Hey, you ok?" He can see the troubled look on her face. "You look… flushed."

"I'm alright. My sister wants to see me."

"Oh. Do you have to go now?"

"I think I do." She answers weakly.

Hayge can see the persistent elbow nudging Ben. "Oh, how rude of me?" He says. "Hayge, this is my friend Phi. Phi, this is Hayge, my new trainee."

Finally… Hayge accepts Neighbor Guy's extended hand and returns his big smile. The name 'Phi' sounds charmingly unique on its own rights. "Pleasure to meet you, Phi."

"The pleasure is mine." Then Phi narrows his eyes and studies her closely. "You look familiar. Have I seen you before?"

Hayge decides to disclose the truth to him. "We live on the same building."

"Oh, of course. Hello… Hayge." He offers his hand again, as though to refresh the greeting.

"You've been living on the same building all this time and you just found out now?" Ben asks incredulously, a little laugh in his voice. "What kind of tenanting mates are you?"

"What can I say, it's a pretty big building." Phi jokes, a joke which Hayge chuckles to.

"Anyway, guys, I'd love to stick around, but uh, something came up at home that needs my attention." Hayge says, meaning the 'I'd love to stick around' part with conviction. Two-seventh of the guys playing basketball outside her balcony every Thursday is standing before her. Add Cutie McHottie this morning who proved himself to be a jerk yet again. It's an extraordinary world she's living in. "I'll see you soon, Ben, Phi."

"Of course." Ben says reverently. "You take care, Hayge. See you tomorrow."

Hayge likes him already, even Neighbor Guy – Phi, whom she has known for barely ten minutes. They're both so likeable people in their unassuming and unpretentious ways. Hayge is charmed. Why did Cutie McHottie have to turn out to be the exact opposite of the guy she had envisioned him to be? All that aside, she _can't_ wait to meet the rest of them, which, judging by the unexpected turn of events, is too likely of a scenario at this point.

The ride home is quick and uneventful. Hayge decides to take the stairs this time rather than the elevator, since that's one of Ben's little advices. She won't deny her exhaustion and say that all the freehand squats and benchpresses Ben told her to do were a piece of cake, they weren't, but she feels energized somehow. Like she can run a mile and punch a bear… or something.

Elizabeth stands there in the dark hallway with a little girl on her side, Mickey, her daughter. It doesn't take for a genius to sense that something wrong is going on. Hayge makes her presence known and gives her sister a tight hug.

"Hey, what's the matter? You sounded so worried on the phone."

Her sister doesn't seem to notice that's she's swearing tighties, so _definitely_ something's wrong. "I have no time to explain, Hayge. I have a flight to Seattle scheduled tonight and I have to leave Mickey with you." Elizabeth says, her breath coming in short, strained puffs as though she just got back from a five-mile-run. She looks so disheveled.

"What do you mean? What are you talking about? Can we discuss this inside?" Hayge asks, confused.

"No, the plane will be leaving in half an hour. I have to make this quick." Elizabeth takes a deep breath and looks like she's about to burst into tears. Hayge puts an arm around her and walks her to a corner where Mickey can't hear them.

"Liz, tell me what happened."

"Richard is cheating on me….. Again." Elizabeth says in a pained voice. "He's having an affair with Linda."

"What? Linda, his secretary Linda?"

"Yes. He told me his trip to Seattle was for business purposes." She takes a pause to keep herself from breaking down. "Then Marie called and told me she saw him and another woman check in a hotel room together."

"Oh, Liz. You can't be too sure. What if Marie got it all wrong?"

"No, Hayge, you don't understand." This time she does cry. "His affair with this woman has started shortly after he broke up with Rachel. The signs were all there, I just ignored them. How could I have been so stupid?"

Hayge holds her in an embrace. "What are you planning to do?"

"I am gonna go after him and tell him that this marriage is over." With a straight face and tear-filled eyes, Elizabeth declares. "He already fooled me once; another betrayal is way too far down the road."

"Liz… what about Mickey?"

"Can I leave her with you just for a few days?" There's a pleading tone in her sister's voice that she can't say no to. "I promise to be back as soon as I get this sorted out. I have nowhere else to go, Hayge. Please help me."

Hayge's eyes glance over Mickey's sullen face and the luggage sitting by her feet behind them, and she says, "I'd be glad to."

"Thank you, Hayge. Thank you." Elizabeth runs to her daughter and bends down to give her a hug. "You be a good girl and listen to everything that Aunt Hayge tells you to do, okay?" When Mickey nods, although very apprehensively, her mother places a quick kiss on her forehead and stands up. "I'll be going now."

Hayge takes Mickey's hand in hers. "Take care, Liz."

As soon as Elizabeth takes the turn to the stairs and disappears, Hayge feels a cold knot in her stomach. Elizabeth may be saying that this marriage is over, but it is far from over. It only takes a little apology drama from Richard and she'll be crawling back to his arms again.

"Guess I'm the only one you got for now, kiddo." She says to Mickey.

Hayge picks up the little girl's luggage and leads them inside.

***6***

"I'm a loser."

"Rynan, you're stating the obvious again."

"I mean, she was there, in front of me. I could've said sorry for my behavior last night and made amends with her. But you know what?" Rynan turns to Phil with a defeated face. "I didn't."

"That does add validation to the obvious fact that you are, indeed, one of the other million thriving Homo sapiens with the frightening ability to fuck everything up, even the most important ones." Phil hands him his eighth, or maybe the ninth (who keeps track, anyway?) beer and plops himself on Rynan's bed, next to his sulking friend who is wallowing in a mud of self-disappointment at the moment.

Rynan decides to ignore Phil's hurtful but very honest statement. "And you know what's worse?"

"You pretended you didn't remember her and said something very ungentlemanly?"

"Yeah, how do you know?"

Phil gawks at him as if he's growing a third ear. "Dude, this is your fifth time telling me this story tonight. How can I possibly not know? Are you feeling okay?" He motions to feel him up, doing an impersonation of a mother checking if her son has a fever.

Rynan pushes Phil's hand away with the least amount of force. Considering today's mishap, he just doesn't have the energy to do a little more than lift his arm. "I'm screwed."

"Obviously." Phil intones, taking one big gulp out of his beer.

"She looked real beautiful, though." Rynan whispers into the wind as his mind floats back to that totally unexpected, but bedazzling moment when he turns around and walks into her. His head hurt for a few fleeting seconds, but the instant he saw that face, pain became the last thing on his mind. The surprised glare that she was gave him froze him on the spot, though. He panicked, staggered to say something redeeming, but instead, he stumbled upon one clumsy, feeblemindedly created idea of putting her under the impression that he had no remote clue who she was. And that, as it turned out, was a bad move.

He had two choices – he could pretend he forgot about last night and have a fresh start with her, or he could take the high road and apologize and introduce himself the conventional, old-fashioned way. But he was too much of a chicken to take the high road, or _any_ road, for that matter. Because he did pretend that he didn't remember her, but instead of jumping at the opportunity of a second chance, he said all the wrong things and threw it all away. He had to grow balls, soon. Or maybe he can just have Phil lend him some of his.

"Maybe I should just forget about her."

Phil is shaken awake from his boredom and straightens to look him in the eyes. "Really? You agree with me now?

The scoff that Rynan makes brings a frown to Phil's face.

"You're kidding."

"Of course I am. There is no way I could forget about her even if I wanted to."

"Ugh, you are such a weakling. I don't know why I make friends with you." Phil looks straight ahead as Rynan's eyes refuse to avert from him. "I'm supposed to be out right now, having a shot of Blue Nun with Ben at this new joint called Cooligans. But instead, I'm stuck here in this dead apartment to comfort a moping, whining friend who doesn't even deserve my precious, highly-prized attention."

"Are you complaining, Phil?"

Phil brings his eyes down helplessly. "No, I love you too damn much."

Rynan smiles smugly. "That's what I thought."

"I'm asking for a simple favor in return here, Rynan."

"And what is that?"

"Stop punishing yourself. Forget about her and have a life. A real life."

"Am I not having a real life already?"

"Dude, let me help you clear that distorted viewpoint of yours. You are emotionally and physically attracted to a girl whom you've never had one decent conversation with. You don't know one thing about her, yet you act as if she was only the girl that ever lived. Christ, you don't even know her name, do you?" This is not the first time Phil gave him a sermon about this matter. But it is the first time his insides are reacting that way. "That's not normal. That's insane. There are tons of women out there who you can engage in a socially recognized form of interaction, instead of secretly watching them from your building like a perverted psycho. You are not ugly, Rynan. You're not a one-eyed monster who should hide behind his window so as not to scare the people with that ugly face."

"Hey, FYI, I do know her name. It's Hayge and it's unique."

"Shut up, you know what I mean." Phil never sounded so serious in his life. "I don't want you to see you wasting so much emotional and physical energy on a girl who, based on your own accounts, you have no chances of being with anymore. Two times you ran into her, two times you messed up. This is obviously a sign. She's not the one for you. Now start accepting that and get on with your life."

"Shit."

"I know."

"How do you suppose I do that then?" Rynan asks.

"Well, my cousin Elena is coming to visit next week, and you do remember her, right?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I remember her." Rynan also remembers how hot she was… the typical type.

"Maybe I can arrange a date for you two."

"Oh no." Rynan lets out a pained moan.

Phil shoots him an all-too-knowing expression. "Face it, Rynan. You're practically growing your virginity back. She might just be your last hope."

Rynan sighs like a man who just lost his cat. He knows Phil was right, but won't admit it aloud as much as his self-worth will allow him. "But I don't want sex, Phil."

Phil raises his right eyebrow at him, as if to ask the obvious "HUH?"

Rynan rolls his eyes, "I mean, yeah, I want that, too. But I'm yearning for something that can go deeper than that."

"Yeah, yeah, right, I know. You wanna get married and settle down and raise a family and buy a house with a porch and those cute white picket fences and move to the suburbs – the whole picture-perfect Stephord deal."

"Exactly." Rynan says with passion. "I wanna have a kid, you know. Someone I can go home to after a hard day's work and who can make me forget about all that's wrong with the world." Suddenly the air gets dramatic. One reason why he loves teaching dance to little children is because he sometimes fantasizes they're all his kids, hungry for daddy's lesson. And he does have one student who treats him like a real dad, after all.

"Dude, I respect that with all my heart. But you see, you gotta start at the bottom before crawling your way up to the top, and there's no other way around it, no shortcut or detour. You know what I'm saying?" Phil asks considerately. "It goes like this: one-night-stands, flings, pseudo relationships, and _then _real commitment. That's the path you're bound to be heading."

Rynan sees Phil's point. "You're right."

"Now promise me one thing." Phil says after a minute of silence.

"What?"

"Don't ever, ever chase after that woman who you know you're never gonna get anyway."

Rynan forces an answer that will certifiably drop the subject. "I promise."

"On your life?"

Although he loves his job, and finds gratification in imparting knowledge to the youth for a high, worldly purpose, Rynan's never been a fan of his life, if you can, indeed, call his humdrum existence 'life,' which pretty much sucks at this point either way you call it. It feels like something's always missing, like there's a bottomless hole right in the middle of himself that needs filling up. And spying on her, at the woman who intrigues him so astonishingly, makes him forget about that little hole even for a little while, to which, it seems, Phil is so intent on putting an end. So laying his "life" on the line is pretty much easier than stealing a piece of candy from a baby given the circumstances. "On my life, Phil." _On my life, my ass_.

"Good. Because I don't wanna hear you whining any more over that woman." Phil says, impressed. "Let's start facing the real world and lose the James Bond stunt, alright, dude?"

"Aight." They always say promises are meant to be broken.

Well, they couldn't be any more right. Because Rynan knows this one isn't an exception to the rule.


End file.
